CHILDRENS^FATE 


p-i  J,     ij  i^hJ-n,*--^-^ 


y 


CHILDREN  OF  FATE 


By    ADOLPHE    DAIVZIGER 

THE  MONK  AND  THE  HANGMAN'S  DAUGHTER 

(In  Collaboration  with  Ambrose  Bierce.) 

IN  THE  CONFESSIONAL  AND  THE  FOLLOWING 

(Short  Stories.) 

A  MAN.  A  WOMAN  AND  A  MILLION 

(London.) 

JEWISH  FORERUNNERS  OF  CHRISTIANITY 

(New  York  and  London.) 


CHILDREN  OF  FATE 


A  dtory  nf  PaBBtan 


—  ADOLPHE    DANZIGER 

Author  op 
♦*A  MAN,    A   WOMAN  AND   A   MILLION,"    ETC. 


BRENTANO'S 

NEW     YORK 
1905 


Copyrighted  J  905,  by  A.  Danzigcr 
All  rights  reserved 


FRANK  KINSEY,  Esq., 
Marquette  Building, 

Chicago,  III. 

My  Dear  Frank : 

When  in  July,  1884,  you  indicated  to  me  my  duty  to 
this,  my  adopted  country,  I  hut  little  realized  what  that 
duty  meant.  I  was  then  a  stranger  to  its  obligations 
and  to  the  language  in  which  you  spoke.  Later  I  keenly 
appreciated  the  importance  of  that  first  lesson,  and  dur- 
ing the  eventful  years  that  since  have  elapsed,  I  made 
an  earnest  effort  to  live  up  to  the  ideals  which  you 
then  so  eloquently  portrayed. 

But  above  and  beyond  these  ideals  stood  and  still 
stands  the  friendship  that  then  arose.  I  have  cherished 
it  with  ever  increasing  affection,  and  deemed  it  a  capital 
from  which  I  was  not  to  draw  the  smallest  part  of  its 
accumulating  interest  unless  I  was  able  to  contribute  my 
full  share,  for  "friendship  is  reciprocal  benevolence 
which  inclines  each  party  to  be  solicitous  for  the  welfare 
of  the  other  as  for  its  own." 

However,  you  were  always  in  advance  of  me.  Your 
splendid  manhood,  your  loyalty,  your  unequivocal  sup- 
port of  whatever  I  attempted,  inspired  me  to  act  so  as 
to  merit  the  grace  of  your  friendship,  upon  the  altar  of 
which  I  now  lay  this  story,  taken  from  life. 

Accept  then,  my  dear  Frank,  this  volume,  and  may 
you  derive  as  much  pleasure  from  its  contents  as  I  have 
in  giving  it  to  you.  Ever  yours, 

ADOLPHE  DANZIGER. 

New  York,  August,  1905. 


W7G3415 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/childrenoffatestOOdanzrich 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


BOOK  ONE. 

I. 

A  Matter  of  Opinion. 

II. 

A  Statement  of  Fact. 

III. 

A  Mere  Accident. 

IV. 

An  Incident. 

V. 

Love  Letters. 

VI. 

Love  Letters  Continued. 

VII. 

Joseph. 

VIII. 

The  Vision. 

IX. 

Under  a  Spell. 

X. 

'TwixT  the  Priest  and  the  Doctor. 

XL 

The  Reality. 

XII. 

A  Thousand  Roubles. 

XIII. 

The  Mission  of  Joseph. 

XIV. 

The  Temptation. 

XV. 

On  the  Train. 

XVL 

Found. 

BOOK    SECOND. 

I.     The  American  Millionaire  Socialist. 
II.    Count  and  Countess  de  Lack. 

VII 


III.  Beatrice  and  the  Baroness. 

IV.  At  the  Ball. 
V.  The  Plot. 

VI.  The  Marriage  Broker. 

VII.  The  Solution  of  a  Problem. 

VIII.  The  Wooing. 

IX.  The  Reward. 

X.  A  Revelation. 

XL  On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 


BOOK  THIRD. 

I.  Jean  Merau,  Artist. 

II.  The  Inner  Voice. 

III.  After  the  Duel. 

IV.  Jealousy. 

V.    The  Heart  of  the  Banker. 
VI.     Mistaken  Identity. 
VII.  "They  Would  Not  Condemn  Me?" 
VIII.    A  Miracle. 
IX.    The  Cousins. 
X.    Waldeck's  Resolve. 
XI.    The  Dream. 
XII.  "I  Have  But  One  Life  to  Lose." 

XIII.  "The  Greater  Calamity  Has  Come." 

XIV.  The  Apotheosis. 

L'Envoy  :    Extract  from  Ella's  Letter. 


vxn 


"Die  holden  Wuensche  bluehen 
Und  welken  wieder  ah, 
Und  blueh'n  und  welken  wieder, 
So  geht  es  bis  ans  Grab.''' 

(Heinrich  Heine.) 


CHILDREN  OF  FATE 

BOOK  ONE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

A    MATTER  OF   OPINION. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  Joseph 
Rosen,  under-sexton  of  the  Synagogue,  stood  on 
the  door-step  of  his  house,  one  of  a  row  of  squat 
Httle  dwelHngs  of  the  "Hinter  Gass"  in  Dobrzyn, 
Poland. 

His  eyes  swept  the  wondrous  scene  before  him ; 
he  saw  the  golden  glory  that  bathed  the  steeple 
of  the  Catholic  Church,  the  flaming  glow  on 
trees  and  houses  and  fields,  and  his  heart  thrilled 
as  the  first  lark  seemed  to  burst  her  throat  with 
song,  mingling  her  piercing  note  with  the  music 
of  tinkling  sheep  bells  and  the  lowing  of  cattle. 

Joseph  listened,  while  the  soft  breeze  fanned 
his  face  and  stirred  his  hair  that  hung  in  long 
black  locks. 

"Are  you  glad,  Joseph?"  said  a  voice  softly. 

He  raised  his  head,  and  the  smile  that  had 
hovered  on  his  lips  turned  into  something  more 
than  a  smile  and  becam.e  a  benediction. 


Children  of  Fate. 

From  a  round  window  within  the  gable  of  the 
adjoining  house  there  looked  upon  him  a  face 
which,  lit  up  by  the  moving  light  that  shone 
upon  its  perfect  oval,  its  downcast  long-lashed 
eyelids  and  delicate  tint  of  ivory,  appeared  like 
one  of  Raphael's  Madonnas  set  in  a  rough  frame. 

"Ah,  it  is  you,  Rachel;  good  morning,"  said 
Joseph. 

"A  good  morning  and  a  blessing  upon  you; 
how  is  your  mother?"  she  asked. 

"She  is  well,  thank  God,"  he  said.  "May 
peace  be  with  you." 

He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  bless,  to  shield, 
to  implore,  all  in  one. 

The  face  above  him  reddened,  the  eyes  lifted, 
the  lips  smiled ;  then  the  casement  closed,  and 
Joseph  was  alone.  But  there  was  no  regret  de- 
picted in  his  face,  nothing  to  indicate  that  he  had 
more  than  a  passing  interest  in  what  was  per- 
haps a  daily  occurrence.  Outwardly  he  appeared 
calm,  if  thoughtful.  He  shut  the  door  noise- 
lessly, not  to  disturb  those  within  the  house,  then 
walked  a  short  distance  westward  along  the  nar- 
row street.     Suddenly  he  called  out: 

"Ri-i-ise  to  Psalms!" 

A  multiple  echo  gave  back  its  last  sound, 
and  through  the  narrow  street  there  came  some- 
thing like  the  sigh  of  a  satisfied  sleeper. 

Joseph  called  again  in  the  same  monotonous 
singsong,  but  there  was  no  response ;  the  ancient, 
iron-bound,  heavy  wooden  shutters  remained 
closed,  and  the  pious  in  Israel  thus  summoned 


A  Matter  of  Opinion. 

to  their  early  orisons  evidently  slept  on  undis- 
turbed. 

A  third  time  Joseph  called.  He  was  now  be- 
yond Back  Street,  up  to  the  post  office  stables, 
where,  scattered  about,  a  few  Jews  dwelt. 

All  at  once  another  voice  was  heard;  a  mo- 
ment later  Joseph  stood  face  to  face  with  Kam- 
inski,  the  policeman  of  the  town. 

"Ah-ee,  Yushu,  you  call;  you  call,  and  the 
dog  brothers — the  Jews — sleep,  they  sleep;  haw, 
haw,  haw!'' 

The  last  sounds  were  those  of  an  asthmatic 
cough  that  echoed  through  the  empty  street  like 
thunder. 

"Good  morning,  Pan  Kaminski." 

"Well,  good  morning,  good  morning,"  said 
the  policeman.  He  was  a  big,  bloated,  choleric 
man,  the  personification  of  the  domineering  ty- 
rant who  brooks  no  interference  and  demands 
absolute  obedience;  but  when  Joseph  bade  him 
good  morning,  his  red  face  seemed  to  soften 
and  the  great,  bushy  moustache  trembled  in  an 
effort  to  show  a  smile. 

"Bad  business,  Yushu,  your  calling  the  Jews 
and  their  not  responding,"  he  said. 

"They  will  respond  soon.  Pan  Kaminski;  it  is 
very  early,"  the  young  man  answered. 

"As  I  love  God,  I  would  not  serve  such  pigs," 
said  the  officer. 

"You  are  serving  the  Russians,  Pan  Kamin- 
ski,'' Joseph  responded,  and  a  faint  smile  played 
on  his  lips. 


Children  of  Fate. 

The  policeman's  face  turned  purple;  such  a 
remark  made  by  another  would  have  led  to  se- 
rious consequences  to  the  offender. 

"Am  I  the  less  a  Catholic  because  I  am  not 
fool  enough  to  fight  for  a  lost  cause?  It  is  bet- 
ter than  serving  a  filthy  race  like  yours.  Go 
home,  Yushu,  and  attend  to  your  beans.  1*11 
spring  my  rattle  loud  enough  to  make  them 
think  the  Day  of  Judgment  has  come." 

''Do  not,  I  pray  you.  Pan  Kaminski;  they 
would  be  angry  with  me,"  said  Joseph. 

"Ah,  'tis  for  that  alone  that  I  do  not  strike 
them  to  the  last  man.  As  I  love  God,  I  would 
like  to." 

"But,  Pan  Kaminski,  I  am  a  Jew." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha  I  Hear  the  boy!  You  a  Jew! 
Mother  of  God,  am  I  a  Jew,  Yushu,  am  I  a  Jew  ? 
You  are  no  more  a  Jew  than  I." 

"But  you  know  my  people  and  you  have  known 
me  from  my  childhood ;  do  not  say  such  a  thing 
again.     I  am  a  Jew,  Pan  Kaminski." 

"May  lightning  strike  me  if  you  are  a  Jew. 
Though  I  hear  you  say  so,  and  though  I  often 
get  my  share  of  the  meats  you  bring  from  Jew- 
ish weddings,  still  I  say  you  are  not  a  Jew." 

Joseph  was  silent.  What  could  he  say?  He 
had  no  mind  to  irritate  the  policeman  by  fur- 
ther assertion,  nor  did  he  wish  to  fritter  away 
his  time  when  there  were  so  many  duties  to 
which  the  day  called  him;  so,  without  further 
parley,  he  again  called  out  the  plaintive  sum- 
mons to  Psalms. 


A  Matter  of  Opinion. 

At  this,  the  poHceman  sprang  forward  and, 
taking  hold  of  Joseph's  arm,  said : 

"Don't  call  the  Jews,  Yushu,  don't  call  them/' 

*1  must  call  them;  it  is  my  duty,"  was  the 
calm  reply. 

"As  I  love  God,  you  shall  not  call  them,"  the 
policeman  cried. 

"But  I  must,  Pan  Kaminski,  I  must." 

"Blood  of  Christ,  who  must  when  I  say  no?" 
he  shouted,  and  held  Joseph's  arm  fast. 

Joseph  looked  at  him  with  his  great,  sad  eyes, 
and  the  angry  officer  dropped  his  hand  as  if 
it  were  struck  down.    Joseph  walked  away. 

For  a  moment  the  officer  gazed  after  the  re- 
treating form,  then  he  heaved  a  sigh. 

"Mother  of  God,  did  he  strike  me?  Did  he 
strike  me?"  he  reiterated,  froth  gathering  on  his 
heavy  lower  lip. 

"Who  struck  you,  brother  Kaminski?"  asked 
the  stage  driver,  who,  with  hair  awry  and  sleep 
in  his  eyes,  came  from  the  post  office  stables. 

Kaminski  turned  fiercely  on  him. 

"Me,  struck  me?  You  are  drunk,  Janushek; 
who  would  dare  to  strike  me?"  he  cried,  and 
blinked  his  small,  black  eyes  over  the  great  brass- 
rimmed  spectacles  with  the  fierceness  of  an 
angry  rat. 

"But  you  were  speaking  to  someone,"  Jan 
persisted. 

"Of  course  I  was,  stupid;  of  course  I  was," 
said  Kaminski. 

"To  whom?" 


Children  of  Fate. 

"To  whom?  Who  else  would  be  about  the 
town  before  you  went  to  feed  your  horses  but 
Yushu?" 

**The  Jew  who  calls  ?"  asked  Jan. 

"He  cEdls,  Janushek,  but  he  is  not  a  Jew." 

"He  is,  Kaminski." 

"You  are  the  son  of  a  sow,  Janushek,  and 
you  have  not  enough  brains  to  pull  your  leg 
through  a  fence,"  Kaminski  said  with  contempt. 

"I  know  that  your  mother  barked  at  your  birth, 
Kaminski ;  I  am  not  a  traitor,"  Jan  retorted. 

"You,"  cried  Kaminski,  and  his  thick  neck 
swelled  out  enormously. 

"You  yourself,"  said  Jan,  unafraid. 

Kaminski  raised  his  fist  to  strike,  but  Jan  fell 
upon  him  and  in  a  moment  the  two  held  each 
other  by  the  hair. 

Silently,  without  a  word,  they  pulled,  setting 
their  elbows  against  each  other's  breast.  Neither 
sought  to  strike.  Each  was  bent  by  the  sheer 
force  of  the  purchase  he  had  on  the  other's  hair, 
each  pressing  desperately  on  the  other's  breast  to 
wear  him  out  and  force  him  to  his  knees.  Both 
had  their  legs  firmly  planted  and  their  heads  al- 
most touching. 

Jan's  elbows  sank  into  the  fat  breast  of  the 
policeman  as  into  dough,  making  him  puff  and 
groan. 

Backwards  and  forwards  they  swayed,  until 

Kaminski  was  gradually  forced  against  the  wall 

of  the  stables.     This  appeared  to  give  Jan  an 

advantage,  for  he  forced    the  big    man's    head 

6 


A  Matter  of  Opinion. 

down  so  that  the  pressure  against  the  latter's 
double  chin  choked  him. 

Suddenly  Jan's  hands  dropped;  he  sprang 
back,  and  between  him  and  the  policeman,  who 
sank  down  limp  and  gasping,  stood  Joseph. 

Jan  gazed  at  him  in  speechless  horror.  Ka- 
minski,  who  was  slowly  regaining  his  breath, 
crossed  himself,  and  as  he  was  getting  to  his 
feet,  Joseph  walked  away. 

The  erstwhile  combatants  looked  at  each 
other,  consternation  depicted  in  their  faces,  then 
both  stood  still  and  listened.  From  the  distance 
came  the  plaintive  call  of  the  under-sexton : 
"Ri-i-se  to— Psalms." 

Jan  and  Kaminski  both  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross. 

"Mary,  mother  of  God,  have  mercy  on  us," 
they  said. 


CHAPTER  11. 

A  STATEMENT  OF  FACT. 

"Is  he  a  Jew?"  asked  Kaminski,  putting  on 
his  cap. 

"No  Jew  ever  could  do  that,"  Jan  rejoined. 
"But  what  is  he?" 

"Ugh,  he  says  he  is  a  Jew,"  said  Kaminski. 

"Then  he  must  be,"  timidly  remarked  Jan. 

"Must  be,"  cried  Kaminski.  "Last  month 
when  the  ice  had  broken  and  floated  down  the 
Vistula  so  that  no  one  trusted  himself  to  cross, 
my  little  Annusha,  playing  with  other  girls,  fell 
into  the  river ;  I  saw  it  and  my  soul  went  out  of 
me.  There  were  hundreds  of  people  and  many 
Jews,  too,  but  no  one  made  a  move.  And  what 
did  this  boy  do?  He  walked  straight  into  the 
river  and  brought  out  my  little  girl  just  as  she 
was  sinking  beneath  one  of  the  ice  floes." 

"Jesus,  Mary!    I  did  not  know,"  said  Jan. 

"No,  you  were  in  Plotzk  then.  You  remem- 
ber the  old  Doctor  Lerko  who  lived  on  the 
square  ?" 

"Do  I?  Have  I  not  waited  on  Rachelka  his 
daughter  whenever  she  went  on  my  coach  to 
Lipno,  and  would  not  I  have  cut  off  my  head  to 
serve  her?  But  she  had  eyes  only  for  that 
damned  Russian  officer,  may  the  devils  take 
him,"  cried  Jan,  and  spat. 

8 


A  Statement  of  Fact. 

"Well,  he  left  Rachelka  with  a  souvenir,"  said 
Kaminski. 

"A  child?" 

Kaminski  nodded. 

"I  thought  it  would  come  to  that  when  I  saw 
them  at  the  Fair  in  Belsk.  But,  you  know,  I  was 
transferred  to  Lipno  for  a  time  and  did  not  know 
what  became  of  her.  Ah,  but  she  was  pretty,  and 
to  think  that  she  would  throw  herself  away  on 
a  Cossack  when  there  are  so  many  good  Polish 
Catholics  here,"  said  Jan  sadly. 

"Yes,  she  did  throw  herself  away,  but  who  can 
tell  anything  about  a  woman?  Most  women  are 
like  children.  But  this  Rachelka  was  not  at  all 
like  a  Jewess;  and  her  father  was  a  great  man, 
he  spoke  Russian  like  a  Cossack,  and  her  mother 
spoke  Polish  like  one  of  us.  I  think  she  was 
no  more  a  Jewess  than  you  and  I  are  Jews." 

"Impossible,"  cried  Jan. 

"Quite  true,  and  the  Jews  claimed  them,  too, 
for  she  was  good  to  the  poor ;  but  when  Rachel- 
ka's  child  was  born  they  made  a  great  noise  and 
wanted  to  kill  her." 

"Where  is  she  now?"  asked  Jan. 

"Stick  a  carrot  in  your  mouth  for  an  answer," 
said  Kaminski,  winking  his  eye. 

Jan  looked  about  him.  If  he  had  dared  he 
would  have  throttled  the  policeman  till  he  gave 
him  the  desired  information,  but  a  nameless  fear 
had  hold  of  him. 

"Mother  of  God,  one  is  not  safe,"  he  mur- 


Children  of  Fate. 

mured.    But  Kaminski  misunderstood  his  mean- 
ing. 

"I  sometimes  think  the  same,"  he  said.  "But 
no  one  knows.  Well,  one  day  it  happened  that 
I  was  coming  down  this  very  street  and  saw  the 
vile  Jewish  scum  chase  Rachelka." 

Jan  jumped  as  if  stung  by  a  viper. 

"Mother  of  God,  they  chased  her !"  he  cried. 

"And  threw  mud  and  stones  at  her,"  the  other 
continued. 

Jan  spat  in  a  passion  of  disgust. 

"The  vermin!"  he  cried.  "I'll  get  even  with 
them." 

"She  ran  like  a  deer,  but  they  came  from  all 
sides  and  she  sank  down." 

"My  God !"  cried  Jan,  gritting  his  teeth,  "and 
you  looked  on?" 

"I  was  so  amazed  they  dared  to  do  this 
in  my  presence,  that  for  a  moment  I  stood  still. 
As  I  was  about  to  charge  them  with  my  sabre, 
Yushu,  as  if  sprung  from  the  earth,  stood  in 
front  of  her.  They  threw  mud  and  sticks  at  him 
and  demanded  that  he  should  give  her  up." 

"Did  he?"  asked  Jan  tremblingly. 

"He  stretched  forth  his  hands  to  protect  her 
and  then  I  ran  up  full  charge  and  the  scum  dis- 
persed." 

"Holy  Virgin  save  us!  I  am  afraid  of  that 
Jew,"  said  Jan. 

"There  is  a  mystery  about  him,  that  is  cer- 
tain," said  the  policeman ;  "but  he  is  very  good." 

Jan  made  no  response;  he  was  perplexed. 
10 


A  Statement  of  Fact. 

Of  a  sudden  an  idea  seemed  to  have  struck 
his  mind,  and  putting  the  left  hand  on  his  fore- 
head, he  put  his  right  in  his  pocket. 

"I  had  almost  forgotten,"  he  said,  pulling  out 
a  bottle  of  vutki.  "I  brought  it  from  Lipno,  and 
meant  to  give  you  a  drink  this  very  morning." 

The  eyes  of  the  policeman  glistened. 

"Oh,  Janushek,  brother,  how  could  you  be  so 
forgetful?"  he  said  reproachfully,  and  took  the 
proffered  bottle. 

Having  taken  a  long  draught  of  the  precious 
liquid,  he  smacked  his  lips  and  gave  the  bottle 
back  to  Jan,  who  in  his  turn  took  a  long 
draught. 

"By  the  way,  Janushek,"  said  Kaminski,  and 
his  voice  had  a  ring  of  gratitude,  "the  Pultava 
regiment  is  coming  this  way  again." 

"When?"  cried  Jan  excitedly. 

"To-day,"  said  Kaminski. 

"Are  they  going  to  quarter  here  or  are  they 
just  passing  through?"  asked  the  stage  driver. 

"Passing  through.  See,  the  Jews  are  going  to 
the  Synagogue;  it  is  time  for  you  to  attend  to 
your  horses,"  said  Kaminski. 

"My  horses  are  all  right,"  said  Jan.  "Why 
are  the  soldiers  coming  this  way,  Kaminski?" 

"I  don't  know,''  answered  the  policeman. 

From  the  wink  in  his  eye  it  was  evident  that 
he  did  know,  but  he  also  knew  that  he  must  not 
talk  too  much  to  Jan,  who  was  a  tattler  and  fre- 
quently gave  the  policeman  important  informa- 
tion. Thus,  for  example,  it  was  Jan  who  had 
II 


Children  of  Fate. 

told  him  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  political 
meeting  of  the  nobles  in  that  part  of  the  country, 
and  that  the  meeting  was  fixed  for  this  very  Fri- 
day in  the  city  of  Vlotzlavek.  Kaminski  had 
told  the  Burgomaster,  who  sent  word  to  Plotzk, 
and  the  Governor  sent  the  Pultava  regiment  to 
Vlotzlavek. 

It  was  well  for  Kaminski  that  Jan  had  no  ink- 
ling of  the  matter,  else  the  knife  instead  of  the 
vutki  had  gone  into  the  traitor's  body.  But  Jan's 
thoughts  were  upon  a  different  matter. 

"The  Cossack  will  come  and  he  will  take 
Rachelka.  Tell  me,  brother,  where  she  is.  I 
want  to  protect  her,"  he  cried. 

The  policeman  grinned  broadly. 

"Rachelka  does  not  need  your  protection, 
brother  Janushek.  But  I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
she  is  here  or  maybe  she  is  in  Plotzk,  perhaps 
she  is  in  Vlotzlavek  or  in  Warsaw.  Yushu,  I 
think,  knows ;  there  he  goes,  ask  him,  brother," 
said  the  policeman. 

Jan  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  and  made 
a  move  as  if  to  follow,  but  Joseph  had  already 
disappeared  behind  one  of  the  houses. 

At  this  moment  both  were  startled  by  the 
sight  of  two  soldiers  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
road. 

"They  are  here,"  said  the  policeman. 

"Mother  of  God,  protect  us,"  cried  Jan,  and 
went  hastily  into  the  stables,  while  Kaminski 
walked  slowly  toward  the  square. 


12 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MERE  ACCIDENT. 

When  the  policeman  saw  Joseph,  the  latter 
was  not  walking  as  usual,  slowly  and  with  bowed 
head,  but  was  running.  If  the  policeman 
thought  this  extraordinary  he  must  have  had  his 
reasons  for  concealing  it  from  the  stage  driver. 
More  likely  he  did  not  know,  for  he  went  in  a 
direction  different  from  that  taken  by  Joseph. 

The  latter  ran  behind  one  of  the  houses, 
peeped  cautiously  back  to  see  if  he  were  followed 
and  then,  running  through  the  passageway,  en- 
tered his  own  house  from  the  back.  He  hastily 
climbed  to  the  attic  and  opening  a  casement  in 
the  gable  called  out  softly: 

"Rachel,  Rachel !" 

In  a  moment  the  window  opposite  opened,  and 
the  face  of  the  young  woman  appeared. 

"What  is  it,  Joseph?  Oh,  why  are  you  so 
pale?  What  has  happened?  How  is  your 
mother?"  she  cried. 

"Be  calm,  Rachel;  nothing  has  happened  to 
me,  and  mother  is  well.  But  tell  me,  do  you 
still  love  him?"  he  whispered. 

The  face  opposite  flushed  to  a  deep  red. 

"Why  do  you  ask?  You  know  that  long  ago 
I  gave  up  hope  and  love,"  she  said. 

"Yet  he  may  call  you,  and  if  he  does  you  must 

13 


Children  of  Fate. 

follow  him,  although  under  the  Russian  law  you 
cannot  be  his  wife." 

As  Joseph  said  this  the  face  above  him  turned 
ashen ;  it  worked  convulsively  as  in  anguish,  but 
the  eyes  remained  tearless  and  even  grew  hard 
as  she  asked: 

"Do  you  think  he  knows  that  law?" 

"He  must;  he  is  an  officer.  You  must  decide 
quickly,  for  he  is  here,"  said  Joseph. 

"My  God!"  cried  the  woman,  "when  did  he 
come?    Is  he  alone?" 

"No,  he  is  with  his  regiment.  He  will  search 
for  you  and  find  you.  It  will  be  for  sin,  for  he 
does  not  love  you  as  a  wife.  He  has  deceived 
you;  decide." 

"I  will  not  see  him,"  she  said.  "I  would  rather 
die." 

"You  shall  not  die.  God  is  merciful;  come, 
get  ready,"  said  Joseph  softly. 

"Where  shall  I  go?  Where  shall  I  hide?"  she 
asked. 

"The  graveyard  is  a  good  place  to  hide  until 
the  regiment  has  gone  away;  but  veil  yourself 
closely." 

The  casements  closed,  and  soon  afterwards 
Rachel  stepped  through  the  back  door  into  the 
garden,  where  Joseph  joined  her.  Screened  by 
the  high  grass  which  filled  a  dip  in  the  ground, 
they  reached  unobserved  the  eminence  where  the 
Jewish  burial  ground  was  situated.  But  no 
sooner  were  they  at  the  top  than  they  saw  an 
officer  on  horseback.  He  was  gazing  across  the 
14 


A  Mere  Accident. 

majestic  Vistula  that  in  the  morning  sun  looked 
like  a  moving,  myriad-rippled  flame.  Beyond 
was  the  brilliant  forest,  deepening  to  a  dark  blue 
in  its  recesses,  with  here  and  there  open  spaces 
where  pretty  peasant  houses,  white-walled  and 
red-roofed,  gleamed  in  the  sunshine. 

The  amazed  and  frightened  couple  stood  still. 
It  seemed  as  if  fate  had  planned  the  encounter, 
or  with  less  faith  Rachel  might  have  thought 
that  Joseph  had  contrived  the  meeting.  But  she 
had  no  time  for  thought ;  she  recognized  the  offi- 
cer at  a  glance  and  that  caused  her  a  weakness 
which  she  could  scarcely  conquer. 

"Down,  quick,"  Joseph  whispered. 

But  it  was  too  late,  the  officer  turned,  he  saw 
them  and  at  once  rode  toward  them. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded. 

"I  am  a  Jew,"  said  Joseph. 

"I  can  see  it;  who  is  this  woman?" 

"An  unfortunate,"  Joseph  answered. 

"Is  she  young?  Remove  your  veil,  woman," 
the  officer  commanded. 

Rachel  trembled  violently. 

"She  must  not  remove  her  veil,"  said  Joseph. 

"Silence,  Jew." 

"Leave  her  in  peace,  my  lord.  See  how  she 
trembles." 

"Silence,"  cried  the  officer,  "and  you,  Jewess, 
obey!" 

Rachel  straightened,  and  with  a  quick  move- 
ment put  aside  her  veil. 

"Rachelka!"  cried  the  officer. 

15 


Children  of  Fate. 

Her  body  quivered  at  the  sound  of  the  name, 
but  she  made  no  move. 

"Rachelka!"  the  officer  repeated. 

She  appeared  not  to  hear. 

"Leave  her,  my  lord,  she  is  only  a  Jewess," 
said  Joseph. 

The  officer  grew  red  in  the  face. 

"Is  she  your  wife?"  he  asked. 

"She  thinks  she  is  your  lordship's  wife,"  Jo- 
seph said,  and  calmly  gazed  in  the  officer's  eyes. 

"And  why  did  you  bring  her  here  ?"  he  asked, 
grinding  his  teeth. 

"To  save  her  from  evil." 

"Insolent  Jew,  I'll  teach  you " 

He  raised  the  riding  whip  to  strike. 

Rachel  uttered  a  cry,  but  Joseph  looked  at  the 
Russian  unafraid. 

"What  boots  it  to  strike  a  Jew?  You  have 
struck  us  so  often  that  we  are  used  to  it.  You 
have  deceived,  defiled  and  forsaken  this  poor  wo- 
man ;  leave  her  in  peace  now ;  do  not  again  lead 
her  to  ruin,  more  deeply  and  irredeemably." 

"Silence,  you  chattering  idiot,"  cried  the  offi- 
cer, springing  from  his  horse. 

Joseph  did  not  move. 

The  officer  measured  the  tall,  commanding 
figure  of  Joseph. 

"I  suppose  you  think  it  is  better  for  her  to  live 
with  filthy  Jews  than  to  go  with  me?"  he  said 
with  a  sneer. 

"Yes,  if  she  cannot  go  as  your  wife,"  was  Jo- 
seph's reply. 

i6 


A  Mere  Accident. 

"That  cannot  be,"  said  the  officer  curtly. 

Rachel  shivered. 

"Then  your  marriage  was  a  mockery,"  cried 
Joseph,  and  pointing  to  a  little  mound  near  the 
wall  he  added:  "Do  you  see  that  little  heap  of 
earth?  It  is  the  grave  of  your  child,  the  fruit  of 
your  sin — not  of  hers,  for  she  was  innocent  and 
did  not  know." 

"Enough,  filthy  Jew!"  the  officer  cried,  step- 
ping toward  her.  "Rachelka,  come  with  me  to 
Vlotzlavek." 

But  Joseph  put  himself  between  him  and  the 
girl. 

"Don't  touch  her;  it  were  better  she  died  this 
instant  than  be  defiled  by  you  a  second  time,"  he 
cried. 

"Die,  you  dog,"  cried  the  officer  and  his  sword 
flashed  in  the  sunlight. 

Rachel  sprang  forward  and  the  blade  pierced 
her  breast. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment,  but  it  worked  like 
a  spell  upon  the  enraged  officer.  He  was  trans- 
fixed. At  last  he  realized  what  he  had  done  and 
throwing  away  his  sword,  he  knelt  by  the  side  of 
the  stricken  girl. 

He  opened  her  dress,  and  with  his  handker- 
chief sought  to  stem  the  flow  of  blood.  He  called 
her  by  endearing  names,  but  her  senses  were 
gone ;  she  neither  heard  nor  saw. 

Joseph  stood  by  with  bowed  head;  his  lips 
moved  in  prayer. 

17 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Fetch  a  doctor,  quick,"  said  the  officer. 

Joseph  hastened  away.  Near  the  hollow  he 
stopped. 

"Father  in  heaven,  have  mercy!  Have  mercy, 
Lord!"  he  cried. 

Standing  there  in  the  shadow,  with  the  sun 
shining  on  his  uplifted  face  and  raised  hands, 
he  looked  like  one  of  those  rare  paintings  in 
which  a  master  hand  has  put  the  agony  of  the 
whole  world  into  the  features  of  a  Christ.  A 
moment  he  stood,  as  if  listening  to  the  echoes  of 
the  prayer  he  had  breathed,  then  he  hastened 
away,  and  all  was  still. 


i8 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  INCIDENT. 

The  burial  ground  was  on  the  road  to  the 
beautiful  town  of  Vlotzlavek,  which  was,  at  the 
time  the  incidents  in  this  story  took  place,  a 
centre  for  the  meetings  of  the  Polish  nobles, 
who,  although  continually  harassed  by  the  Rus- 
sian police,  continued  their  agitation  for  inde- 
pendence. 

On  the  very  Friday  on  which  Rachel  was 
struck  down,  a  regiment  of  Russian  soldiers 
marched  into  the  town,  surrounded  the  great  hall 
in  the  Old  Square,  and  there  and  then  arrested 
five  hundred  nobles.  Many  were  at  once  sent  to 
Siberia,  others  were  publicly  flogged  and  sent  to 
the  German  frontier.  A  goodly  number  escaped 
punishment,  owing  in  part  to  their  absence  from 
the  meeting,  but  mainly  because  thev  list  of  names 
of  the  patriots  had  been  lost. 

Amongst  those  to  whom  fate  had  been  partic- 
ularly kind  that  Friday  was  the  widow,  Baroness 
Levanovska,  an  ardent  patriot,  very  wealthy  and 
very  capricious,  who  lived  at  Castle  Wysiniaski, 
an  old  building  of  noble  proportions. 

The  meeting  of  the  nobles  had  been  called  for 
an  early  hour,  and  the  Baroness,  seated  in  an 
open  barouche,  was  being  driven  to  Vlotzlavek, 
the  road  to  which  led  through  Dobrzyn  and  past 

19 


Children  of  Fate. 

the  old  Jewish  burial  ground. 

Suddenly  a  glint  of  light  caught  her  eyes. 
Ordering  the  carriage  to  stop,  she  took  the  reins 
and  told  the  driver  to  see  what  was  going  on  at 
the  burial  ground.  He  came  back  running  and 
terribly  agitated. 

"There  is  a  Russian  officer  up  there/'  he  whis- 
pered.   *'I  think  he  has  killed  some  one." 

The  Baroness  threw  him  the  reins  and  stepped 
from  the  carriage.  She  walked  briskly  up  the 
incline  to  the  gate  and  soon  was  bending  over 
the  stricken  girl. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked. 

"Has  the  Jew  come  with  the  doctor?"  the  offi- 
cer inquired,  staring  like  a  madman. 

"What  has  happened?''  the  Baroness  repeated. 

"A  terrible  accident,"  he  replied ;  "bring  help, 
as  you  are  a  woman,  I  beg  you,  else  she  will 
die." 

"There  is  no  time  to  be  lost  then;  hurry  and 
carry  her  outside;  my  carriage  is  there  and  I 
will  take  her  home,"  said  the  Baroness. 

He  lifted  the  inanimate  form  of  Rachel  and 
carried  it  down  the  incline.  As  he  moved  away, 
the  Baroness  noticed  a  small  white  package  on 
the  ground.  She  bent  down,  picked  it  up,  and, 
hiding  it  in  her  dress,  followed.  Having  taken 
her  seat,  she  told  the  officer  to  place  the  girl  by 
her  side,  so  that  she  might  support  her.  Order- 
ing the  driver  to  take  the  garden  road  to  the 
Castle,  she  bade  the  officer  hurry  to  the  doctor 
in  Dobrzyn  and  tell  him  to  come  at  once  to  Castle 

20 


An  Incident. 

Wysiniaski.    The  officer  looked  up  quickly. 

"Baroness  Levanovska,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  now  go  quickly  and  call  the  doctor," 
she  said. 

"Pardon,  madame  la  Baronne,  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  do  this;  I  must  join  my  regi- 
ment. Adieu,  madame,"  he  said,  and  walked 
away.  He  ran  to  the  graveyard,  picked  up  his 
sword,  and  as  he  buckled  it  on  gazed  after  the 
fast  disappearing  carriage. 

"How  unfortunate,"  he  murmured;  then  his 
brow  clouded.  "Curse  that  dog  of  a  Jew,"  he 
said  and  gritted  his  teeth.  A  moment  later  he 
was  on  his  horse  and  dashed  away  on  the  road 
to  Vlotzlavek. 

Joseph  and  the  doctor  walked  hurriedly  to- 
ward the  burial  place.  In  a  few  words  he  told 
the  physician  what  had  happened ;  but  the  latter 
listened  with  but  little  attention.  Joseph  had 
called  him  at  the  moment  he  was  about  to  leave 
for  Vlotzlavek.  But  when  Joseph  mentioned 
that  the  Pultava  regiment  was  on  its  way  to  that 
city,  and  that  the  officer  was  the  colonel  himself, 
the  doctor  stood  still. 

"Are  you  sure  the  regiment  is  going  to  Vlotz- 
lavek?" he  asked. 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Joseph.  "I  saw  them  on  the 
road,  and  I  heard  the  colonel  himself  say  that 
he  was  going  to  Vlotzlavek." 

"Rather  imprudent  to  tell  everyone  of  his 
movements,"  the  doctor  rejoined,  and  a  smile 
played  on  his  lips. 

21 


Children  of  Fate. 

"It  was  so  ordered;  God  be  praised  for  all 
things!"  said  Joseph. 

"This  matter  of  ordering  has  not  been  fully 
settled  by  science;  but,  however  it  came  about, 
it  was  a  very  lucky  arrangement.  You  have  put 
me  in  good  humor;  now  let  us  hasten." 

But  Joseph  stopped. 

"There  is  the  officer;  he  is  riding  to  Vlotzla- 
vek.  Go  quickly,"  said  he,  and  walked  away, 
while  the  doctor  hurried  to  intercept  the  carriage. 


22 


CHAPTER    V. 

LOVE  LETTERS. 

"Will  she  live?"  asked  the  Baroness  eagerly, 
when  they  had  reached  the  Castle  and  the  doctor 
had  examined  Rachel's  hurt. 

"There  are  no  vital  organs  affected ;  but  she 
had  a  narrow  escape.  If  no  complications  arise 
she  will  be  well  in  a  month,"  said  the  doctor. 

"You  must  try  all  means  to  prevent  compli- 
cations/' the  Baroness  rejoined. 

The  doctor  gave  her  a  quick  look. 

"Politics?"   he  asked,     i 

"Perhaps  that  and  something  else,"  she  said 
evasively.    "I  am  interested  in  her." 

"But  I  should  like  to  know  the  reason  for 
this  solicitude,  providing  it  rests  on  political 
grounds ;  for  others  I  do  not  care,"  he  said. 

"You  may  know  both,"  said  the  Baroness, 
"and  the  chances  are  you  will  care  as  much  as  I 
do.  To  begin  with,  did  you  know  that  Dr.  Lerko 
was  baptized  a  Greek  Catholic?" 

"I  surmised  it;  otherwise  he  could  not  have 
been  a  high  military  official  in  the  Russian 
army,"  the  doctor  replied. 

"And  did  you  know  that  his  wife  was  a  Cath- 
olic, who  lived  as  a  Jewess,  and  was  a  baroness 
in  her  own  right?"  she  asked. 

"That  is  certainly  news,"  he  rejoined. 

23 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Yes,  and  I  dare  say  you  did  not  know  that 
Colonel  de  Prussnitzki  of  the  Pultava  regiment 
was  married  to  this  young  woman,  who  bore  him 
a  child?"  the  Baroness  continued,  enjoying  the 
amazement  of  the  doctor  at  this  recital. 

''And  how  did  you  get  behind  all  that  so 
quickly,  dear  Baroness?"  be  asked. 

But  she  was  bent  on  tantalizing  him  a  little 
longer. 

**Nor  did  you  know  that  some  one  had  fur- 
nished the  Governor  with  a  full  list  of  names, 
mine  and  yours  included,  of  the  people  who 
were  to  meet  this  morning  at  Vlotzlavek;  and, 
but  for  this  girl,  we  might  now  be  manacled  and 
on  our  way  to  Siberia,"  she  said. 

"I  have  received  an  inkling  of  this  through 
the  young  Jew  who  called  me.  But  then,  if  there 
be  a  list,  which  I  greatly  doubt,  it  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time  how  soon  the  soldiers  will  be  here," 
the  doctor  said.  "But,  pray,  tell  me  how  did  you 
find  out  all  about  the  Lerkos?" 

"Read  these  letters ;  they  are  marked,  as  you 
see,  according  to  numbers,"  she  said,  handing 
him  three  letters. 

He  opened  the  first. 

"Ah,  French,"  he  said,  and  this  is  what  he 
read: 

"My  Well-beloved!     My  Life!     Dearest  Vladi- 
mir: 

"It  seems  to  me  that  a  century  has  passed 
since  you  left.  I  did  not  believe  that  there  was 
so   much    suffering  in    store    for   me;  that   life 

24 


Love  Letters. 

would  be  so  very  dark  as  it  has  seemed  since 
you  went  away  and  I  no  longer  can  look  into 
your  eyes  and  rest  my  head  on  your  breast.  The 
sun  has  lost  its  brightness,  the  days  are  full  of 
gloom,  and  in  my  solitude  I  can  only  weep  and 
weep  for  my  lost  happiness.  I  love  you,  I  love 
you  more  than  any  being  on  earth,  more  than 
my  life,  more  than  my  soul  and  its  salvation.  I 
love  you,  I  love  you ! 

"There  is  indeed  no  grief  so  keen  as  to  recall 
in  misfortune  the  happiness  we  once  enjoyed. 
Each  time  I  think  of  the  happy  moments  you 
and  I  were  together,  beloved,  I  feel  the  most 
poignant  pain. 

'T  thank  you  for  the  exquisite  sweetness  of 
love  you  have  taught  me,  and  I  pray  God  that  I 
may  die  the  moment  doubt  of  your  love  for  me 
enters  my  soul;  that  would  be  to  experience  a 
greater  torture  than  I  now  suffer  from  your  ab- 
sence. 

"I  love  to  recall  the  moments  of  our  first 
meeting;  when  I  saw  you,  love  came  to  me  like 
the  glory  of  the  sunrise,  waking  my  dormant 
soul  to  a  life  it  had  never  known.  Each  night, 
while  you  and  my  father  talked,  my  heart  went 
out  to  you  for  the  gentle  manner  and  respect 
with  which  you  treated  him.  It  was  at  that  time 
I  learnt  that  my  father  had  been  baptized  in 
the  Greek  Catholic  faith,  having  been  abducted 
in  childhood  and  educated  in  the  Russian  mili- 
tary academy.  Later,  when  invalided,  he  was 
given  permission  to  live  in  the  city  of  Warsaw, 

25 


Children  of  Fate. 

where  he  met  the  Baroness  Gurakovska,  my  own 
dear  mother.  At  the  time  they  met  my  father 
was  neither  Jew  nor  Christian,  and  my  mother 
did  not  take  rehgion  into  account  with  her  love. 
And  yet  my  father  had  so  strong  a  leaning  to 
his  own  people  that  he  persuaded  my  mother  to 
be  married  according  to  Jewish  rite.  When  they 
finally  came  to  this,  his  birthplace,  to  live,  he  as- 
sociated with  the  old  Jewish  families  as  if  re- 
ligious differences  had  never  existed.  They  of 
course  did  not  know  of  my  mother's  Christian 
origin,  and  with  the  exception  that  people  some- 
times said  she  was  "Gentile-like,"  no  one 
ever  suspected  that  she  was  not  a  Jewess  by 
birth.  My  father's  position  did  not  admit  of  any 
severe  criticism  on  the  part  of  the  Jewish  com- 
munity ;  they  looked  upon  him  as  one  with  whom 
it  was  well  to  be  circumspect,  as  they  often 
sought  and  always  received  his  help. 

"My  parents  lavished  their  entire  affection  on 
me,  their  only  child.  My  father  taught  me  the 
sciences,  and  my  mother  languages.  She  often 
told  me  that  I  must  be  accomplished,  as  some  day 
she  would  take  me  to  see  my  aunt,  who,  she  said, 
held  a  high  position  in  Warsaw. 

"Then  you  came. 

"Oh,  how  every  nerve  in  my  body  thrills  when 
I  think  of  that  day.  Lover  of  my  soul,  how  was 
it  possible  not  to  love  you,  and  how  could  I  re- 
sist the  wondrous  charm  of  your  words  when 
you  told  me  you  loved  me?  They  rang  in  my 
soul  like  the  rarest  harmonies,  and  I  yielded. 
26 


Love  Letters. 

"Beloved,  do  you  remember  the  little  church 
in  Belsk,  where  I  vowed  to  love  you  all  the  days 
of  my  life?  Perhaps  it  was  a  sin  not  to  marry 
according  to  the  laws  of  my  faith,  for  I  am  a 
Jewess,  but  God  is  the  Father  of  all,  and  the  love 
He  gives  He  Himself  has  sanctified.  I  knew 
and  felt  it  when  I  gave  myself  to  you,  my  lover, 
my  husband. 

"I  know  you  will  come  back  to  me,  but  I  pray 
God  that  it  be  soon,  for  I  cannot  live  without 
you.    I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you. 

"I  have  named  a  beautiful  rose  bush  in  our 
garden,  'Vladimir.'  Daily,  when  I  go  to  water 
it,  I  kiss  the  leaves  and  the  buds.  I  break  none, 
because  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  hurt  you 
if  I  broke  one. 

"I  send  you  my  heart  and  my  love.  I  kiss  you 
with  the  tenderest  and  most  passionate  kisses.  I 
kiss  your  eyes  and  your  soft  lips.  My  lover,  do 
you  not  feel  the  warmth  of  my  embrace,  the 
beating  of  my  heart?  You  surely  must,  for  my 
life  is  bound  up  with  yours.  I  cannot  think  of 
myself  as  living  without  your  love.  I  know  not 
how  to  worship  my  God  better  than  by  breathing 
your  name  and  asking  a  blessing  upon  our  love. 

"I  live  in  the  atmosphere  your  love  has  created 
for  me;  waking,  your  name  is  on  my  lips,  and 
sleeping  I  dream  of  you,  my  beloved,  my  life.  I 
feel  that  deeper  than  the  sea,  higher  than  heaven, 
and  stronger  than  death,  is  the  love  of 

"Your 

"Rachelka." 


Children  of  Fate. 

When  the  doctor  had  finished  reading  he 
looked  at  the  Baroness  in  speechless  wonder- 
ment. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  interested,"  said  she. 

"Interested!"  he  cried.  "Why,  this  is  the 
rarest  love  letter  I  ever  read  in  all  my  life,  and 
he  a  Russian." 

"A  woman's  heart  cares  for  nothing  else  when 
it  loves;  it  does  not  stop  to  analyze,"  the  Bar- 
oness rejoined. 

"It  seems  so,"  said  the  doctor.  "But  let  us 
see  what  follows,"  and,  opening  the  second  let- 
ter, he  read: 

"Adored  Vladimir: 

"Four  months  have  passed;  an  eternity,  it 
seems  to  me.  I  have  not  heard  from  you,  yet  I 
write  again.  I  know  that  you  are  on  duty  and 
may  be  hindered  from  writing;  still  I  must 
write ;  I  must  free  my  soul  from  the  pressure 
that  fate  has  laid  on  it.  Not  that  I  doubt  your 
love,  but  I  am  sad  because  you  are  away.  I  long 
for  you  with  a  passion  for  which  I  can  find  no 
words. 

"I  am  orphaned  now,  my  father  having  died 
suddenly  on  the  very  night  I  sent  my  first  letter 
to  you.  A  few  days  after,  the  Burgomaster's 
wife  brought  me  the  news  that  your  regiment 
was  ordered  to  the  Caucasus  for  the  manoeuvres. 
This  knowledge  came  over  me  like  a  pall.  For 
weeks  I  was  like  one  in  a  dream,  a  dreadful 
dream,  and,  despite  my  mother's  effort  to  engage 
28 


Love  Letters. 

my  attention  in  work,  study,  or  conversation,  I 
could  not  rid  myself  of  the  terrible  pressure  that 
held  my  heart  as  in  a  vice.  As  if  my  sufferings 
were  not  great  enough,  an  attempt  was  made  to 
make  them  greater. 

"One  day  a  man — a  professional  matchmaker 
— came  to  see  my  mother  and  told  her  that  he 
had  made  all  the  necessary  arrangements  to  be- 
troth me  to  the  son  of  a  rich  man  from  Plotzk, 
who  had  arrived  in  town.  I  nearly  fainted. 
When  I  regained  my  self-possession^  I  told  the 
man  that  I  would  not  marry  any  one. 

"  'Not  marry !'  he  cried.  'Jewish  girls  must 
marry;  it  is  the  law.' 

"  *But  I  don't  want  to  marry,  and  I  don't  love 
the  man,'  I  said. 

"  'Love,  love!'  he  cried.  'What  is  love?  Who 
wants  love?  We  are  not  Gentiles,  whose  acts 
spring  from  the  evil  passions  of  their  hearts.  We 
marry  because  it  is  the  law  and  a  woman  must 
marry.' 

"My  poor  mother  winced  at  his  speech ;  I  saw 
that  she  was  afraid.  But  my  heart  rebelled.  I 
told  him  I  did  not  want  to  marry  and  went  from 
the  room. 

"The  man  stayed  a  while,  then  I  saw  him 
leave.  He  appeared  very  angry.  I  did  not  mind 
this,  for  I  took  no  more  heed  of  his  words  than 
of  a  flitting  fly.  However,  the  excitement  made 
me  ill.  I  went  back  to  mother  and,  lying  in  her 
arms,  I  soon  fell  asleep. 

"And  even  while  I  was  sleeping,  it  seemed  to 
29 


Children  of  Fate. 

me  that  I  heard  my  mother  weep.  I  opened  my 
eyes,  and  my  mother's  tears  were  falHng  fast.  I 
threw  my  arms  about  her  neck  and  begged  her 
not  to  sadden  herself  because  I  did  not  want  to 
marry.  But  she  cried  more  keenly  while  her 
slender  white  hand  soothed  my  aching  head. 

"  'My  little  dove,  my  own,'  she  said,  'you  need 
not  marry  if  you  do  not  wish,  but  tell  your  own 
mother,  Rachelka,  do  you  love  any  man,  my  own 
lamb,  tell  me,  do  you?' 

"I  threw  myself  at  her  feet  and  told  her  my 
heart's  secret. 

"And  as  I  spoke  there  came  a  great  ringing  in 
my  ears,  the  blood  rushed  to  my  head,  I  felt  as 
if  I  were  lifted  by  unseen  hands  into  space,  and 
I  saw  myself  lying  at  my  mother's  feet.  Around 
me  I  seemed  to  see  a  group  of  celestial  beings 
who  pointed  at  an  object  so  beautiful,  so  wonder- 
ful that  from  it  a  glory  seemed  to  shine  over  all 
the  world.  At  this  a  great  yearning  to  see 
seized  me,  and,  descending  among  the  angels,  I 
asked  them  to  tell  me  the  mystery. 

"  It  is  thy  child,'  they  said  in  chorus,  and  the 
music  of  their  words  was  re-echoed  throughout 
the  entire  universe,  so  high  and  holy  is  the  first 
step  of  motherhood. 

"Oh,  my  beloved  Vladimir,  I  did  not  know 
that  I  had  become  pregnant  with  life  until  my 
mother's  eyes,  keener  than  my  knowledge,  until 
her  tears,  as  merciful  as  love  itself,  revealed  to 
me  the  holy  secret. 


30 


Love  Letters. 

"But  she  wept  and  sighed  and  told  me  she 
feared  evil  days  were  in  store  for  me. 

"I  am  glad,  however ;  for  God  surely  gave  me 
this  great  blessing  to  make  my  heart  joyous. 
May  He  bring  you  back  to  me,  beloved,  for  I 
need  your  strength  and  your  support. 

"Your  own  for  life  and  beyond, 

"Rachelka." 


31 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LOVE   LETTERS   CONTINUED. 

The  doctor's  excitement  was  so  intense  that 
he  did  not  venture  any  comment.  He  hastily 
opened  the  third  letter  and  read : 

"Vladimir: 

"I  write  this  letter  in  a  garret.  I  am  in  hiding ; 
have  been  in  hiding  for  weeks.  I  am  without 
the  means  to  get  away  from  this  town.  I  dare 
not  come  forth  to  claim  my  own  property,  as 
there  is  not  a  person  of  influence  among  the  Jews 
in  this  town  who  would  stand  by  me  to  see  that 
I  am  not  molested.  Were  it  not  for  one  who 
has  been  as  a  brother  to  me,  I  should  have  ended 
this  miserable  existence. 

"Now,  alas,  I  recall  with  pain  and  remorse  the 
vvords  of  my  poor  mother  when  she  told  me  that 
days  of  evil  were  in  store  for  me.  The  evil  is 
here  and  the  days  have  become  one  long  night 
as  dark  as  my  soul,  as  chill  as  my  heart. 

"I  do  not  live  in  the  present;  the  present  is 
grief,  so  keen  that  it  often  seems  I  must  die  of 
its  sheer  keeness.  Yet  I  am  fated  to  live.  Why  ? 
I  can  see  no  glint  of  future  happiness.  Every- 
thing appears  to  me  like  a  dream.  You,  in  whom 
I  placed  sutpreme  confidence,  are  far,  far  away. 
Is  your  soul,  too,  far  away?    Have  you  read  my 

3a 


Love  Letters  Continued. 

letters  that  I  sent  to  Plotzk  to  be  forwarded? 
Will  you  read  this?  Will  you  have  pity  on  the 
girl  who  trusted  you,  or  can  it  be  that  you  do 
not  love  me?  I  shall  not  believe  so  horrible  a 
thought.  Let  this  letter  witness  my  faith  in  you, 
my  husband.  Perhaps,  when  you  read  the  suf- 
ferings I  have  undergone,  you  will  hasten  to 
me. 

"I  wrote  you  in  my  last  letter  how  I  was  made 
aware  that  motherhood  awaited  me.  The  days 
that  followed  were  of  ineffable  bliss.  I  tried  to 
measure  my  capacity  for  affection  for  that  life 
which  was  part  of  myself,  but  it  seemed  limit- 
less. 

"When  my  condition  could  no  longer  be  con- 
cealed, our  misery  began.  I  could  not  leave  the 
house  without  fear  of  being  molested  by  the 
Jewish  children  and  old  women.  My  mother, 
who  felt  the  distress  more  keenly  than  I,  grew 
weaker  from  day  to  day.  I  was  less  affected  by 
their  jeers.  I  had  done  nothing  wrong.  I  was 
the  wife  of  one  not  of  my  faith,  but  somehow 
my  conscience  did  not  smite  me.  I  even  grew 
more  joyous  as  the  days  passed,  and  my  joy 
spread  its  calming  influence.  Even  the  urchins 
and  the  cantankerous  old  women,  as  they  passed 
our  house,  seemed  to  feel  the  contagion  of  our 
gladsomeness. 

"One  day,  as  I  sat  at  the  piano — for  my  music 
soothed  me  strangely — there  came  upon  me 
something  like  a  flash  of  fire  that  seemed  to  en- 
velope me  and  burn  me  to  the  very  heart.     My 

33 


Children  of  Fate. 

fingers,  running  over  the  keys,  played  music  no 
master  had  composed,  notes  that  sounded  defi- 
ance to  earthly  sorrow  and  sadness.  Every 
minute  a  million-voiced  chorus  seemed  to  sing 
an  anthem  that  rolled  on  in  great  waves  of  music, 
and  with  each  stirring  of  the  precious  life  within 
me,  my  very  soul  thrilled  in  rapturous  response. 

''I  was  carried  away  in  a  whirl  of  the  most  in- 
tense emotion ;  I  was  keyed  up  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  that  mysterious  joy  that  is  as  much  be- 
yond human  understanding  as  some  rare  colors 
are  beyond  the  capacity  of  human  vision,  or  some 
acutie  notes  in  music  beyond  the  grasp  of  human 
hearing.  So  intense  had  this  joy  become,  it  so 
thrilled  and  lifted  me,  it  so  embraced  me,  that 
while  my  fingers  still  moved  on  the  keys  of  the 
piano,  it  forced  one  bitter  cry  from  me,  one  ago- 
nized call,  and  then  I  felt  myself  falling,  falling 
into  cool  and  still  space. 

"When  I  awoke  I  was  on  my  bed,  a  woman 
was  bending  over  me,  and  my  mother  was 
fondling  my  hand,  upon  which  her  tears  were 
falling.  The  momentary  relaxation  felt  so  sweet 
that  I  abandoned  myself  fully,  thinking  nothing, 
feeling  nothing,  desiring  nothing.  Gradually 
there  came  a  slow  concentration,  physical  and 
mental.  I  began  to  think  of  you,  to  long  for 
you ;  I  desired  to  be  happy,  to  be  free  of  pain, 
and  as  my  mind  centred  upon  these  thoughts,  I 
heard  again  the  great  volume  of  music;  the 
whole  universe  seemed  full  of  melodv — so  full 


34 


Love  Letiers  Continued. 

that  I  felt  the  tension  could  last  no  longer  and 
that  it  must  burst  and  go  to  pieces. 

"Sounds  seemed  to  start  from  my  feet  and 
run  with  quick,  sharp  notes  up  to  my  heart, 
thence  to  my  brain.  My  body  felt  like  a  harp 
over  which  the  tense  nerves  were  strung,  to  be 
struck  from  time  to  time  by  a  giant  hand  with 
passionate  force.  And  each  time  it  smote  the 
world  was  filled  with  so  mighty  a  harmony  that 
I  was  forced  to  cry  out  with  ecstasy.  Then  there 
came  a  rush  of  sound  in  which  all  joy  and  all 
grief  were  mingled;  it  overpowered  me,  and 
with  a  lingering  cry  I  sank  into  darkness  and 
silence. 

"How  long  this  silence  lasted  I  do  not  know, 
but  when  I  opened  my  eyes  the  intensity  of  the 
feeling  had  given  way  to  a  calm  and  profound 
peace;  in  my  arms  lay  all  the  world — our  child. 

"I  cannot  recall  every  thought  that  passed 
through  my  brain  when  I  heard  its  first  cry.  I 
know  I  thought  of  you  with  infinite  sweetness 
of  gratitude,  and  prayed  God  to  bring  you  back 
to  me,  that  I  might  put  into  your  arms  the  holi- 
est token  of  our  love,  the  dear  son  I  bore  you. 

"My  mother  sat  by  my  side.  She  kissed  my 
hand  and  hot  tears  fell  from  her  eyes. 

"Why  did  she  weep?  Alas,  I  found  out  later 
why  she  wept. 

"Eight  days  after  the  child's  birth,  they  came 
to  perform  the  rite  of  circumcision,  which,  my 
mother  said,  would  cause  the  Jewish  community 
to  pardon  my  sin. 

35 


Children  of  Fate. 

"My  sin !  I  was  not  conscious  of  any  sin  and 
desired  no  forgiveness.  But  my  inexperience  in 
the  ways  of  the  world  and  the  prejudices  of  men 
was  too  great  to  let  me  judge  of  the  conse- 
quences of  what  was  deemed  my  crime. 

**Soon,  however,  I  forgot  everything  in  adora- 
tion of  my  treasure.  It  was  lovely  to  look  at. 
Then  of  a  sudden  it  fell  ill,  and,  even  as  I  looked 
at  it,  it  began  to  fade  away.  Three  months  after 
its  birth,  the  last  vestige  of  my  happiness  passed 
out  of  my  life;  my  child  died,  and  as  they 
grudged  it  honor  even  in  death,  it  was  buried 
near  the  wall  of  the  cemetery. 

"On  my  return  from  the  graveyard,  a  band  of 
boys  and  girls  met  me.  They  hooted  and  jeered, 
they  called  me  vile  names,  they  threw  mud  at 
me,  they  beat  me,  pulled  my  hair  and  tore  my 
clothes. 

"Wild  with  grief  and  torture,  I  ran,  ran,  to- 
ward the  river.  I  wanted  to  end  a  life  that  held 
no  joy. 

"As  I  rushed  down  the  hill  to  the  water,  a 
young  man  standing  near  it  spread  out  his  arms 
and  barred  my  way. 

"What  are  you  about?'  he  asked. 

"  'Let  me  go,  oh,  let  me  go !  They  will  kill 
me!'  I  cried. 

"  'They  will  not,'  he  said.  Turn  and  go  home, 
Rachel.  You  must  be  brave.  God  has  put  a 
burden  upon  you  and  you  must  bear  it  for  your 
mother's  sake.' 

"His  words  quieted  me  wonderfully.    He  was 

36 


Love  Letters  Continued. 

the  under-sexton  of  the  Synagogue.  I  had  seen 
him  often,  for  he  came  to  our  house  every  Friday 
afternoon  rattling  a  tin  box  into  which  my 
mother  used  to  throw  a  few  coppers.  I  had 
never  noticed  him  particularly,  but  now,  as  he 
spoke  to  me,  I  felt  an  awe  in  his  presence.  He 
seemed  like  one  I  had  never  known  until  this 
moment.  He  looked  so  strong  in  his  manhood, 
yet  so  pale  and  so  spiritual,  so  much  of  a  man 
and  so  much  more  like  an  angel,  that  my  soul 
sank  in  humility  and  obedience  to  him. 

"  *I  will  go  home  if  you  say  I  must,'  I  said. 

"  *Go  home,  and  peace  be  with  you.  The  pain 
that  man  gives  is  as  nothing  to  the  pain  that 
comes  from  one's  own  heart  and  conscience,'  he 
said. 

"I  went  back.  But  no  sooner  did  I  enter  the 
street  than  I  was  met  by  a  mob  of  young  and 
old.  Oh,  the  tortures  that  I  endured !  At  length 
I  made  my  way  to  our  house,  and  there,  alas,  a 
greater  misfortune  awaited  me.  Unable  to  sate 
its  fury  on  me,  the  mob  had  besieged  the  house. 
They  called  my  mother  vile  names  and  threw 
mud  and  stones  at  the  windows.  I  found  my 
mother  on  the  floor;  she  was  unconscious  and 
blood  streamed  from  her  mouth. 

"My  cries  for  help  brought  several  persons  to 
the  house,  amongst  them  the  Jewish  barber  who 
had  been  a  surgeon's  assistant  during  the  war. 
He  pronounced  her  dead.  At  this,  the  women 
fell  to  cursing  me,  saying  I  had  killed  my  mother 
by  my  disgrace.    I  took  no  notice  of  their  curses ; 

37 


Children  of  Fate. 

grief  had  dulled  my  senses,  and  when,  on  the 
following  day,  they  took  away  the  body,  they 
warned  me  not  to  follow  it  to  the  grave. 

"But  when  all  of  them  were  in  the  Synagogue, 
I  stealthily  made  my  way  to  the  burial  ground. 
All  night  I  wept  at  the  grave,  and  prayed  the 
dear  one  to  take  me  to  her.  Frequently  I  thought 
of  going  down  to  the  river  to  end  my  life;  but 
each  time  the  words  of  Joseph  rang  in  my  ears, 
'God  has  put  a  burden  upon  you  and  you  must 
bear  it.' 

"  'But  they  make  my  life  miserable  beyond  en- 
durance,' I  would  argue.  Then  I  seemed  to  hear 
him  say,  'The  pain  that  man  gives  is  as  nothing 
to  the  pain  that  comes  from  one's  own  heart  and 
conscience.' 

"Alas,  my  conscience  did  smite  me  then.  But 
I  silenced  it,  and  in  deepest  agony  I  cried  out, 
'Punish  me.  Lord,  chastise  me,  only  bring  me 
back  my  lover,  my  husband.' 

"Thus  I  wailed  until  the  sun  broke  forth  and 
all  around  me  appeared  as  if  bathed  in  flame. 
Then  came  the  grave-digger's  wife. 

"  'Panna  Rachelka !  As  I  love  God,  it  is  my 
mistress,  the  Panna  Rachelka !  Oh,  you  are  cold ! 
Come  into  the  house.  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of 
tea,'  she  cried,  and  taking  me  in  her  arms  as  if 
I  were  a  child,  she  carried  me  into  the  house  and 
put  me  to  bed.  She  gave  me  tea  to  drink,  and 
then  I  fell  into  a  dull  sleep. 

"When  I  awoke  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon. 
I  rose  quickly  and,  giving  the  children  a  few 

38 


Love  Letters  Continued. 

coppers,  I  went  away.  Ill  luck  would  have  it 
that  the  Jews  just  then  came  from  the  Syna- 
gogue.    In  a  moment  they  surrounded  me. 

"  'Rachel,  Rachel,  will  you  have  a  soldier  ?' 
they  shouted ;  look  at  the  brazen-faced  harlot ! 
Kill  her,  drive  her  into  the  river!  Renegade! 
Harlot!    Unclean  beast!' 

"They  cuffed  and  kicked  me,  they  bespattered 
me  with  mud,  they  pulled  my  hair,  until  I  sank 
to  the  ground.  I  prayed  God  to  forgive  me  my 
sins ;  I  was  ready  to  die.  But  He  would  not  have 
it  so,  and  in  my  supreme  distress  sent  me  a 
saviour.  Joseph,  pushing  through  the  crowd, 
placed  himself  in  front  of  me. 

"  'Go  away !'  he  cried ;  'if  she  be  guilty,  she 
will  answer  to  God.  Are  you  so  good  that  you 
have  the  right  to  punish  those  whom  you  deem 
bad?    Go  away!' 

"  'Hear  the  beggar,'  they  cried.  *He  insults 
the  community  that  supports  him.  Give  it  to 
him!' 

"At  this  there  came  a  perfect  storm  of  mud, 
sticks  and  stones.  He  bent  over  me  to  protect 
me,  and  I  know  that  he  was  struck  several  times. 

"  'Come,  Rachel,  we  must  run.  They  are  mad 
and  are  not  accountable  for  their  acts.  If  we 
stay  we  may  cause  them  to  commit  murder,'  he 
said. 

"And  so  I  got  up,  and,  under  cover  of  his 
body,  ran  with  him.  As  we  ran,  I  heard  the 
voice  of  Kaminski,  the  policeman,  but  we  did  not 
turn.    A  few  moments  later  I  was  at  the  widow 

39 


Children  of  Fate. 

Rosen's  little  cottage,  and,  no  sooner  was  I  in- 
side than  all  became  dark  before  my  eyes.  When 
I  came  to  myself  Joseph  took  me  to  his  mother's 
room. 

"  'Mother  dear,  this  is  Rachel,  the  doctor's 
daughter;  she  is  in  distress.' 

"My  nerves  were  so  unstrung  that  I  broke  out 
sobbing. 

"  'Poor  child,  they  have  ill-treated  you,'  she 
said.  *Ah,  man  is  more  cruel  in  his  judgment 
than  God  would  have  him  be.' 

"Her  words  brought  the  whole  burden  of  my 
misery  before  me.  Cruel!  Ah,  yes,  man  is 
cruel;  but  is  God  kind?  Why  had  He  taken 
everything  my  soul  cherished?  In  sheer  agony 
I  cried  out :    'I  am  miserable,  miserable !' 

"  'Rachel,  there  are  people  in  this  world  more 
miserable  than  you,'  said  Joseph. 

"  'Impossible ;  what  creature  could  be  more 
wretched  than  I  am?' 

"  Those  who  threw  mud  and  stones  at  you  a 
few  moments  ago,'  he  said. 

"At  these  words  a  light  came  into  my  soul,  and 
I  was  made  to  understand.  My  tears  ceased  to 
flow  and  a  sudden  lightness  buoyed  me  up. 

"  'God  bless  you,  Joseph,'  I  said ;  'I  will  try  to 
be  strong.' 

"  'It  is  well  to  remember  that  God's  mercy  is 
without  end.  Whether  you  have  sinned  or  not, 
it  is  not  for  man  to  judge.  However  great  your 
fault,  God's  mercy  is  greater.  Rest  here  or  next 
door.  Aunt  Leah  will  give  you  the  garret.  No 
40 


Love  Letters  Continued. 

one  will  look  for  you  there.  Aunt  Leah  is  dis- 
creet and  she  will  see  to  your  comfort/  he  said, 
and  left  the  room. 

"My  heart  bowed  in  humility  to  God  for  this 
marvelous  salvation,  and  in  deep  thankfulness  I 
kissed  the  hand  of  the  blind  woman. 

"  Tear  nothing,  little  one,'  said  she,  pressing 
me  to  her  bosom;  *my  son  will  protect  you. 
God's  grace  is  upon  him  and  his  words  are  as 
the  words  of  a  saint.' 

"I  glanced  around  the  room  of  the  woman  who 
was  reputed  to  be  so  very  poor  that  her  son  was 
not  given  the  advantage  even  of  a  Hebrew  edu- 
cation, and  I  was  astonished  at  what  I  saw. 
There  was  a  big  bookcase  filled  with  volumes 
which  were  not  all  in  Hebrew,  as  I  could  see  by 
the  inscriptions  on  the  backs.  Who  read  these 
books  in  the  widow's  house?  Involuntarily  I 
compared  what  my  eyes  beheld  and  what  my  ears 
had  heard  of  the  young  man's  utterances,  and 
the  mystery  deepened. 

"But  I  have  since  learned  much  about  him, 
and  although  he  has  warned  me  that  my  love 
may  lead  me  to  great  unhappiness,  he  has  never 
blamed  me. 

"I  have  been  here  a  little  over  a  week,  and 
when  I  am  alone,  as  I  am  now,  the  gloomiest 
thoughts  assail  me,  and  I  feel  wretched,  oh,  so 
very  wretched! 

"To-night  I  am  more  downcast  than  ever.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  doomed  to  pass  away 
without  joy.     I  feel  that  there    will  be    no  re- 

41 


Children  of  Fate. 

sponse  to  this,  my  cry  in  distress,  and  that  I  shall 
be  left  in  the  dreary  silence  that  saps  away  my 
life.    But  I  hope  against  hope  that  God  will  in- 
spire you  to  redeem  from  torture  the  soul  of 
"Your  loving 

"Rachelka." 

When  the  doctor  had  finished  reading,  he  held 
the  letters  for  some  time  in  his  hands,  and 
glanced  again  at  the  written  pages. 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?"  asked  the 
Baroness. 

"I  am  thinking  of  the  man  who  could  be  so 
callous  as  to  leave  them  unanswered,"  said  he. 

"He  did  not  see  these  letters  until  a  day  or 
two  ago;  they  were  addressed  to  his  club  in 
Plotzk,  and  were  not  forwarded,"  the  Baroness 
rejoined. 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  asked. 

"By  his  own  memorandum.  The  package  of 
letters  and  his  private  notes  slipped  from  his 
pocket,  probably  as  he  bent  down  to  aid  the  girl. 
Here  is  the  memorandum,"  she  said,  handing 
him  a  long  slip  of  thin  paper.  As  he  read,  his 
face  became  ghastly  pale.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished he  said : 

"Fate  has  been  exceedingly  kind  to  us.  The 
girl  saved  you,  and  the  young  Jew,  Joseph, 
saved  me ;  such  services  cannot  be  esteemed  too 
highly.  I  shall  henceforth  be  a  little  more  at- 
tentive to  the  young  man." 


42 


Love  Letters  Continued. 

"I  wonder  what  he  looks  like,"  said  the 
Baroness. 

A  groan  from  the  adjoining  room  prevented 
an  answer;  the  doctor  sprang  up,  and  went 
quickly  to  his  patient.  A  moment  later,  a  ser- 
vant handed  the  Baroness  a  note. 

"A  soldier  on  horseback  brought  it,  your  lady- 
ship, and  rode  off  at  once." 

"Baroness"  (she  read  on  opening  the  note)  : 
"You  must  have  picked  up  a  package  of  papers 
that  slipped  from  my  pocket  in  the  graveyard.  I 
clearly  remember  that  you  were  behind  me  when 
I  carried  away  the  girl.  I  also  remember  to 
have  seen  your  name  on  the  list  of  rebels.  As 
this  is  the  only  list,  you  are  safe.  Let  it  be  your 
reward  for  your  kindness  to  the  Jewess.  She 
was  to  me  more  than  a  passing  fancy.  If  she  is 
unhappy,  conditions  are  at  fault,  not  I." 

The  note  bore  no  signature.  The  Baroness 
struck  a  match  and  burned  the  paper. 

"This  note,  if  I  sent  it  to  Warsaw,  would 
mean  a  trip  to  Siberia,  or  worse,  for  its  writer; 
but  a  service  for  a  service.  We  are  quits,"  she 
said. 


43 


CHAPTER  VII. 


JOSEPH. 


Joseph  Rosen  was  a  disappointed  man.  Not 
that  he  manifested  anything  of  the  sort  in  speech 
or  manner,  for  there  was  no  meeker  soul  than 
his  in  the  world.  But  fate  had  tricked  him.  The 
fickle  jade  had  shown  him,  through  a  chink  in 
the  Wall  of  Opportunity,  glimpses  of  beautiful 
vistas  and  of  cooling  fountains  at  which  the 
tired  and  weary  travelers  in  the  vast  desert  of 
this  world  might  quench  their  thirst;  then  this 
glimpse  was  suddenly  obscured,  and  his  life  was 
wrapped  in  a  deep  gloom  through  which  his  un- 
daunted soul  groped ;  and  though  now  and  again, 
from  that  inner  self  that  is  said  to  be  part  of 
God,  there  came  a  spark  that  brightened  the  path 
of  some  other  saddened  soul,  it  seemed  to  give 
no  warmth  to  his  own. 

His  life  was  not  happily  conditioned;  that  is, 
he  was  born  to  poverty  and  no  change  seemed 
ever  possible.  He  was  to  be  poor  and  unpitied, 
for  the  poor,  despite  the  adage,  seldom  have 
sympathy  with  the  poor.  The  statement  that 
generous  hearts  go  with  empty  pockets  must  be 
taken  with  a  multitude  of  qualifications. 

In  the  town  where  he  lived  there  was  poverty, 
but  not  of  the  pitiable  kind.  It  was  not  the  sor- 
did, degrading  poverty  that  disgusts.  It  was  in- 
born, hereditary.     Men  were  poor  because  they 

44 


Joseph. 

were  descended  from  generations  of  poor  people. 
Those  that  defied  fate  and  broke  the  rule  were 
not  respected  even  in  their  wealth.  The  "newly- 
rich"  might  show  a  brazen  front  to  the  old  kind, 
they  might  buy  power;  they  could  not  buy  re- 
spect. 

There  was,  one  might  say,  an  aristocracy  of 
poverty  in  Dobrzyn.  Those  that  peddled  small 
goods  amongst  the  peasants  and  those  that 
bought  farm  produce  for  the  rich  merchants, 
were  equally  sure  of  their  position  in  Poordomj 
they  knew  what  they  were;  their  standing  was 
indisputable. 

No  one  complained.  Whatever  they  had  to 
complain  of  was  told  in  their  prayers,  with 
sighs  and  groans,  to  God.  As  for  telling  one 
another  that  there  was  no  meat  in  the  Sabbath 
pot,  or  no  freshly  baked  bread  for  the  Sabbath 
table,  that  was  entirely  out  of  the  question. 

They  were  virtuous,  and  the  devil  does  not 
hate  holy  water  more  keenly  than  they  hated  an 
unvirtuous  person.  Their  children,  if  bred  in 
filth,  were  born  in  wedlock.  Their  women,  if 
they  sometimes  made  comparisons,  never  ran 
off  with  Russian  soldiers.    Heaven  forbid! 

This  aristocracy  lived  in  Back  Street,  the  dirti- 
est street  in  the  town.  Behind  Back  Street  were 
beautiful  gardens;  behind  these  were  broad 
fields  and  long  rows  of  thatched  granaries,  and 
between  the  fields  ran  the  great  road,  lined  with 
high  poplar  trees,  to  the  city  of  Plotzk.  There 
was  sadness,  poverty  and  filth  in  Back    Street, 

45 


Children  of  Fate. 

and  beauty  and  the  joy  of  nature  behind  it. 

It  was  in  this  street  and  under  these  circum- 
stances that  Joseph  lived.  Here  his  father,  also 
poor,  was  born,  and  here  he  died  when  Joseph 
was  little  more  than  an  infant. 

Of  his  relatives  he  knew  only  that  his  mother's 
brother,  Daniel  Horovitz,  an  ambitious  and 
learned  youth,  had  gone  away  and  was  never 
heard  of  again;  and  that  his  father's  brother 
Max,  a  genius,  had  emigrated  to  America.  The 
virtuous  in  Poordom  joined  to  their  vitriolic  ob- 
servations a  few  blasting  curses  upon  the  head 
of  the  apostate  who  had  left  the  land  of  his  birth 
to  go  to  the  land  of  the  heathen,  where  observ- 
ance of  the  Jewish  ritual  was  impossible. 

Joseph  had  indeed  heard  that  his  mother  ex- 
pected help  from  this  very  heretic  uncle  who,  it 
was  said,  was  quite  wealthy,  but  the  years  went 
by  and  no  help  came;  and  Joseph  thought  of 
nothing  save  the  uplifting  of  his  own  soul. 

He  manifested  this  ardent  desire  when  quite 
young.  He  wanted  to  know.  But  his  mother's 
poverty  was  so  dire  that  she  could  not  afford  to 
send  him  to  the  Hebrew  school,  so  she  herself 
taught  him  to  read  the  Hebrew  prayers.  This 
was  not  enough  for  the  ambitious  lad,  who  was 
then  five  years  of  age  and  envied  the  other  chil- 
dren as  he  saw  them  going  to  school.  He  felt 
they  were  going  to  be  great  scholars  while  he 
would  be  ignorant. 

He  wept  and  kept  up  his  unreasonable  request 
to   be  sent   to    the    Jewish    school.     Then    the 

46 


Joseph. 

mother's  heart,  tortured  with  exquisite  pain  that 
she  could  not  grant  her  child's  plea,  fell  upon  a 
pious  subterfuge.  She  told  him  to  go  to  a  corner 
and  pray  God  earnestly  every  day  to  send  her  the 
means  for  his  education. 

Joseph  took  the  matter  very  seriously,  and 
prayed  for  hours  every  day.  Frequently  at  night 
he  would  get  up,  and,  going  to  the  comer,  would 
pray  and  weep.  But,  for  a  long  time,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  heed  to  this  rare  supplication. 

One  thing,  however,  resulted  from  this  insist- 
ence on  heavenly  thoughts.  Though  the  boy 
grew  paler  from  day  to  day,  upon  his  face  and 
form  there  seemed  to  be  poured  out  something 
that  made  one  think  of  the  angels  in  heaven. 
His  speech,  too,  became  changed ;  his  words 
were  those  of  one  who  had  received  a  measure 
of  divine  wisdom  and  of  the  perfect  knowledge  of 
things. 

One  day  he  went  to  his  mother,  and,  putting 
his  hands  on  hers,  said:  "Mother,  God  has 
shown  me  the  way  to  study  His  law.  I  will  go 
to  Reb  (Rabbi)  Moise  Libe  and  ask  him  to 
teach  me." 

"Oh,  my  dear  child,"  said  she,  almost  terrified 
by  his  words.  "Reb  Mose  Libe  is  a  great  schol- 
ar, and  he  would  not  think  of  teaching  a  little 
child." 

"I  will  ask  him.  Have  you  not  read  to  me 
that  it  is  commanded  to  observe  the  law  and  to 
teach  it,  and  must  he  not  teach  the  law,  when  he 


47 


Children  of  Fate. 

is  asked,  to  those  who  do  not  know  it?  I  will 
go  and  ask  him,"  he  said. 

What  reply  could  she  make  to  so  strange  and 
so  definite  a  purpose?  She  pressed  him  to  her 
heart  and  told  him  to  go,  bidding  God's  blessing 
go  with  him. 

Reb  Moise  Libe,  who  devoted  his  life  to  the 
study  of  Rabbinic  literature,  was  seated  at  his 
table  bent  over  a  large  folio  volume  of  the 
Talmud,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  little 
searcher  after  knowledge  entered.  Thinking 
that  the  boy  had  been  sent  with  a  ritualistic 
question  such  as  he  was  often  called  upon  to 
decide,  the  Rabbi  smilingly  asked, 

"Well,  my  son,  what  is  it?" 

"Rabbi,"  said  Joseph,  and  awe  robbed  his 
mind  of  the  words  he  had  prepared. 

Seeing  the  child's  hesitation,  the  Rabbi  rose 
and  asked  him  to  come  nearer  and  tell  him  what 
he  wanted. 

"Rabbi,  I  want  to  learn,  I  want  to  know  the 
holy  Law." 

The  Rabbi  made  a  quick  movement. 

"What?"  he  cried,  "you  want  to  learn,  to  learn, 
and  you  come  to  me  ?" 

"Yes,  Rabbi,  to  learn  and  to  know." 

The  Rabbi  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  his 
lips  moved  as  if  in  prayer;  then  he  strode  up 
to  the  boy. 

"You — you  want  to  learn  ?  Who  are  you,  my 
child?"  he  cried,  his  fine  face  reddening  with 
evident  emotion. 

48 


Joseph. 

"I  am  the  widow  Rosen's  son.  My  mother 
has  taught  me  to  read  Hebrew,  but  I  want  to 
learn  the  Law  and  the  Talmud,  and  I  told  her  I 
would  ask  you,'*  said  Joseph. 

'Terhaps  your  mother  told  you  to  go?"  the 
Rabbi  asked. 

**She  told  me  that  you  were  a  learned  man 
and  would  not  think  of  teaching  a  child;  but  I 
said  that  it  was  commanded  to  learn  and  to 
teach,  and  that  you  would  teach  me  if  I  asked," 
said  Joseph. 

"Your  faith  is  great  and  it  shall  not  fail  you, 
my  son.  Well  has  Rabbi  Judah,  the  Prince,  said, 
'disturb  not  the  teaching  of  the  young,  not  even 
for  the  sake  of  rebuilding  the  holy  Temple.' 
May  God  bless  you,  and  cause  your  life  to  be  a 
blessing  to  mankind.  I  will  teach  you  every 
evening." 

"I  told  my  mother  you  would,"  the  boy  cried 
exultingly. 

"Yes,  with  the  help  of  God;  but  you  must 
promise  me  that  in  the  daytime,  for  some  hours 
at  least,  you  will  run  about  in  the  free  air.  Jump 
and  play  and  get  strong,  for  those  who  take  upon 
themselves  the  burden  of  the  Law  must  be  strong, 
both  in  body  and  in  mind.  Go  home,  my  son,  and 
come  back  here  this  evening,''  said  the  Rabbi. 

To  the  little  cottage  in  Back  street  there  came 
that  afternoon  a  joy  so  great  and  so  ineffable 
that  the  poor  widow,  usually  so  sad,  laughed 
and  cried  and  prayed  as  she  kissed,  with  a  ten- 
derness not  unmixed  with  awe,  the  child  that  had 

49 


Children  of  Fate. 

brought  her  this  joy,  for  she  had  a  prescience  of 
his  greatness  although  she  could  give  it  no  ex- 
pression. 

For  six  years  Joseph  had  the  attention  of  the 
gentle  Rabbi,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  they 
were  more  like  fellow  students  than  master  and 
pupil,  so  well  had  Joseph  profited  by  the  Rabbi's 
teaching.  !<  •'•^«j 

The  outside  world  had  no  inkling  of  this,  for 
being  most  of  the  time  out  of  doors  and  not 
attendng  any  school,  the  boy  was  not  considered 
of  any  consequence.  Then,  too,  he  never  went 
near  the  Talmud  academy  where  the  youths  of 
his  own  age,  advanced  in  study,  were  to  be  found. 
He  was  not  even  considered  a  good  Jew,  for  he 
was  constantly  seen  in  the  fields  with  the  labor- 
ers, working  with  them,  ploughing,  harrowing  or 
assisting  in  the  harvest.  Sometimes  he  was 
working  at  the  grain  elevators,  carrying  heavy 
sacks  of  wheat ;  sometimes  disporting  himself  in 
the  waters  of  the  river,  for  he  was  an  expert 
swimmer.  By  degrees  he  became  unusually 
strong  and  developed  a  splendid  physique. 

Of  a  sudden  a  new  idea  possessed  him.  He 
wanted  to  study  subjects  other  than  Hebrew  lore. 
He  thought  of  going  to  the  public  school,  but 
he  was  past  the  school  age,  and  he  knew  no  one 
who  would  teach  him.  At  times  he  thought  of 
confiding  his  desire  to  Doctor  Lerko,  Rachel's 
father.  But  the  doctor's  family  was  classed  as 
the  very  highest  in  the  town  and  he  was  afraid 
the  doctor  would  drive  him  away  with  a  sneer  of 

50 


Joseph. 

contempt.  Educated  Jews  in  Poland  have  a  con- 
tempt for  the  uneducated,  and  if  the  uneducated 
happen  to  be  poor,  they  regard  them  as  animals 
that  have  no  right  to  higher  aims  or  higher  pur- 
poses in  life. 

Fate  came  to  his  assistance.  He  was  lying 
in  the  field  one  day  when  the  aged  priest,  Father 
Cohanoski,  a  former  university  professor,  spoke 
to  him. 

Joseph  sprang  up  and  gave  a  ready  answer  in 
Polish,  which  he  had  learned  from  the  laborers, 
for  the  Jews  amongst  themselves  speak  a  mis- 
erable German  jargon. 

"Ah,  you  speak  Polish,  that  is  good.  Can  you 
read  and  write?"  asked  the  priest. 

"No,  but  I  should  very  much  like  to  know 
how,"  Joseph  replied. 

"Why  did  you  not  go  to  the  Polish  school?" 
asked  the  priest,  seating  himself  on  a  rude  bench 
by  the  wayside. 

At  this  Joseph,  in  quick,  concise  speech,  told 
him  his  story,  and  the  interest  of  the  priest  in- 
creased as  he  listened. 

"What  plan  have  you,  what  would  you  like 
to  be?"  asked  the  priest  when  the  boy  had  fin- 
ished. 

"A  physician,'*  said  Joseph  without  hesitation. 

"You  have  set  yourself  a  very  high  aim,  con- 
sidering that  you  have  not  reached  even  the  low- 
est rung  on  the  ladder;  but  we  may  try.  If 
you  are  apt  you  might  in  a  couple  of  years  be 
ready  to  enter  the  high   school,   which   would 

51 


Children  of  Fate. 

mean  many  years  of  hard  study  there ;  and  then, 
many  years  more  at  the  university.  Are  you 
wilHng  to  undergo  all  these  hardships  of  study 
for  a  career  which  affords  but  a  scanty  income  at 
the  beginning?" 

"I  am,  Fa3ier,  even  if  I  have  to  live  on  bread 
and  water  all  the  years  while  I  study,"  said 
Joseph. 

"That  will  not  be  necessary.  You  shall  re- 
ceive a  stipend  sufficient  to  cover  your  personal 
wants.  You  would  not  care  to  become  a  Catholic 
priest?"  the  old  man  asked,  looking  straight  at 
the  boy.     The  latter  shrank  back  terrified. 

"No,  no,"  he  cried. 

"Fear  nothing,"  said  the  priest,  putting  his 
hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  "you  shall  not  be 
asked  to  do  anything  against  your  wish." 

"When  may  I  come?"  asked  Joseph,  in  whose 
eyes  shone  the  gladness  of  his  heart. 

"If  you  wish,  to-morrow,"  said  the  priest,  and 
went  away. 

When  Joseph  entered  his  humble  home  that 
afternoon  he  actually  sang. 

"What  blessings  have  come  to  my  dear  son?" 
asked  his  mother. 

"Ah,  mother  dear,  God  gives  blessings  to  His 
creatures  far  in  excess  of  what  they  deserve. 
I  am  going  to  study  with  Father  Cohanoski  to- 
morrow, so  as  to  learn  something  of  things  other 
than  Hebrew,"  he  said. 

"Come  here,  my  dear  son,  and  tell  your  own 
mother — at  what   price   will   Father  Cohanoski 

52 


Joseph. 

teach  you?"  she  asked,  taking  hold  of  his  hand. 

"Dearest,  at  the  same  price  that  Reb  Moise 
Libe  taught  me,  at  the  same  price  that  all  im- 
selfish  and  great  men  do  everything  for  the  wel- 
fare of  their  fellow  creatures,"  he  replied. 

''Did  he  not  ask?  Did  he  not  make  some 
suggestion?"  she  persisted. 

*'He  did,  but  I  told  him  that  I  did  not  want 
to  become  a  renegade,  and  he  told  me  that  I 
should  not  be  asked  to  do  anything  against  my 
will,"  was  Joseph's  reply,  which  satisfied  his 
mother  fully.  When  on  the  day  following  he 
went  to  the  priest's  house,  she  tenderly  kissed 
him  and  asked  God's  blessing  on  his  work. 

During  the  first  week  or  two  the  priest  was 
often  disheartened ;  the  elements  of  the  new  work 
appeared  so  strange  and  bewildering  to  Joseph 
that  his  mind  refused  to  grasp  them.  No  sooner, 
however,  were  the  first  difficulties  overcome  and 
the  rudiments  mastered,  than  the  wonderful 
mind  of  the  youth  came  into  play.  His  studies 
with  Reb  Moise  Libe  had  taught  him  how  to 
learn.  At  the  end  of  three  years  the  priest  de- 
clared him  ripe  for  the  university  examinations, 
and  told  Joseph  to  get  ready  to  go  with  him  to 
Warsaw. 

However,  one  Sunday,  as  the  priest  was  put- 
ting on  his  vestments  for  high  mass,  he  was 
stricken  down  by  paralysis  and  died  in  the 
church. 

An  unspeakable  sadness  fell  upon  Joseph ;  from 
that  day  onward,  he  became  strangely  silent,  and 

53 


Children  of  Fate. 

with  the  exception  of  his  master,  Reb  Moise 
Libe,  he  would  communicate  with  no  one.  His 
health,  too,  would  have  suffered  but  for  his  pas- 
sion for  swimming  and  the  work  he  did  in  the 
garden.  But  there  was  also  another  stimulus 
to  his  life  in  the  fact  that  he  was  forced  to 
make  a  living  for  himself  and  his  blind  mother. 
Formerly  she  had  supported  him  by  sewing,  and 
during  the  time  he  studied  with  the  priest  the 
stipend  he  received  was  more  than  enough  for 
both,  but  now  he  was  entirely  without  means. 
He  began  to  cast  about,  and  at  length  was  sent 
by  one  of  the  small  traders  to  buy  up  some  farm 
produce,  but  he  was  no  adept  in  the  petty  trickery 
which  is  the  mainspring  of  success  in  such  busi- 
ness. 

When  Simon,  the  old  under-sexton,  died,  Reb 
Moise  Libe  saw  an  opening  for  his  young  friend. 
He  canvassed  the  elders  of  the  synagogue,  and 
as  he  commanded  some  influence,  obtained  the 
position  for  him.  Joseph's  life,  however,  had 
been  lonely  and  monotonous  until  Rachel  was 
thrust  in  his  way,  and  he  realised  a  new  duty  in 
protecting  her. 


54 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    VISION. 

Six  weeks  had  passed  since  Rachel,  desperate- 
ly wounded,  had  been  taken  to  Castle  Wysiniaski. 
Her  recovery  was  more  rapid  than  was  at  first 
expected  when  fever  had  set  in.  Baroness  Lev- 
anovska  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  girl  and 
spent  many  hours  at  her  bedside. 

The  broken  sentences  Rachel  had  uttered  dur- 
ing her  illness  and  much  that  she  had  afterwards 
told  the  Baroness  about  Joseph,  aroused  a  keen 
desire  on  the  Baroness'  part  to  know  this  man, 
although  in  her  mind  she  pictured  an  image  of 
him  that  was  entirely  unlike  the  real  Joseph. 

She  thought  of  him  as  one  of  superior  char- 
acter, but  hardly  of  the  class  to  be  spoken  to  by 
one  of  her  rank  except  in  tones  of  command. 
What  pleased  a  girl  like  Rachel,  however  well- 
born she  might  be,  could  not  possibly  be  accept- 
able to  the  Baroness  Levanovska. 

"I  must  be  growing  stupid,"  she  would  say, 
breaking  off  from  her  reveries  to  laugh  at  her- 
self. "Why,  I  believe  I  shall  soon  be  letting  my 
thoughts  dwell   on   the  young  Jew." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  what  she  was 
doing. 

"He  may  be  some  freak,  some  clever  dreamer 
of  his  race.  What  is  that  to  me?  Nothing.  I 
would  not  be  guilty  of  going  to  the  doctor's 

55 


Children  of  Fate. 

office  with  any  such  idea.  No,  no, — certainly 
not  to  try  to  see  a  Jew,"  she  said. 

The  order  she  gave  to  her  lackey,  however, 
was  exactly  contrary  to  what  she  had  protested 
to  herself;  and  that  very  day,  knowing  all  the 
while  that  the  doctor  was  attending  several  pa- 
tients across  the  Vistula  and  would  not  return 
till  the  next  day,  she  drove  to  his  office,  which 
was  on  the  second  floor  of  Martsup's  house,  and 
sat  there  for  hours,  looking  out  into  the  square, 
waiting,  waiting  for  what? 

Suddenly  her  eyes  clouded,  and  in  the  strange 
mist  that  arose  before  her  vision  she  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man  like  none  she  had  ever  seen. 
The  figure  stood  motionless  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  wooden  cross  that  was  in  the  centre  of  the 
square.  The  bell  of  the  church  was  tolling  the 
"Agnus  Dei,"  and  at  each  stroke  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  the  figure  rose  higher  and  higher  until 
it  was  on  the  cross,  and  with  each  measured, 
plaintive  note,  the  face  came  into  clearer  view, 
until  it  appeared  with  a  distinctness  that  startled 
her.  With  the  last  stroke  of  the  bell  the  vision 
passed  away,  and  nothing  but  the  great  wooden 
cross  remained. 

Though  in  the  cold  light  of  reason  the  Baron- 
ess called  herself  stupid  when  she  thought  of 
the  strange  vision,  nevertheless  she  loved  it,  and 
went  back  to  the  doctor's  day  after  day,  ostensibly 
to  fetch  him  to  see  Rachel,  but  often  when  she 
knew  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Castle  by  another 
road. 

S6 


The  Vision. 

She  would  then  sit  in  the  window  and  watch 
the  Jewish  street  or  the  square  for  her  vision 
to  appear.  To  the  doctor  who  once  surprised 
her  there  she  said, 

"I  shall  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Our  Lady  of 
Tshenstohova,  for  I  have  just  seen  the  face  of 
the  Saviour  himself." 

The  doctor,  who  followed  the  direction  of  her 
eyes,  gave  a  loud  laugh. 

"Why,  that  is  the  young  Jew,  Joseph,  who 
played  a  part  in  our  heroine's  drama,"  he  said. 

"Indeed,"  said  the  Baroness  lightly,  "then  I 
am  afraid  you  will  have  to  give  me  powders  for 
my  nerves.  I  surely  thought  I  saw  the  face  of 
the  Saviour." 

"A  ride  on  your  horse  Tyrant  will  do  you 
more  good  than  all  the  powders  I  can  give  you. 
How  is  our  patient?"  he  asked. 

"The  Mother  Superior  took  her  out  for  a  drive 
and  I  think  she  will  not  be  home  before  late  in 
the  afternoon,"  she  said  as  she  rose  to  leave. 
"By  the  way,  Kolbe  is  near  Shierps ;  he  needs 
money,  but  bids  us  to  make  no  attempt  to  com- 
municate with  him  at  present.  He  will  let  me 
know  and  then  you  and  Father  Turetzki  will  call 
a  meeting.     And  now  an  revoir." 

On  her  way  home  she  said  to  herself, 

"Things  are  very  stupidly  arranged  in  this 
world.  I  certainly  am  beginning  to  think  of 
him." 

Try  as  she  might,  she  could  not  rid  her  mind 
of  the  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  this  man, 

57 


Children  of  Fate. 

although  she  knew  little  more  of  him  than  she 
had  gleaned  from  the  letters  and  from  Rachel's 
meagre  information  about  his  life. 

"Among  us,"  Rachel  had  said,  "we  take  little 
notice  of  people  whose  standing  would  not  admit 
of  even  the  possibility  of  an  alliance." 

"Not  even  if  the  man  is  as  noble  as  your 
description  of  him?"  asked  the  Baroness. 

"But  his  position  is  ignoble,  although  I  don't 
think  there  is  a  soul  in  all  the  world  nobler  than 
his,"  said  Rachel. 

"Do  you  not  love  him  ?"  asked  the  Baroness. 

"I  ?  Oh,  love  does  not  exist  for  me  any  more. 
I  must  work  to  forget — " 

"If — if  you  should  change  your  mind  and 
something  were  done  to  better  the  condition  of 
this — this  Joseph — would  you — marry  him?"  the 
Baroness  asked. 

"I  must  think  of  nothing  but  my  work  to  atone 
— to  atone — "  the  girl  said  sobbingly. 

"What  have  you  to  atone  for,  Rachelka?"  the 
Baroness  said,  and  there  was  a  rare  gladness  in 
her  voice.  "You  loved  the  man  who  married 
you—" 

"He  did  not  marry  me,"  interrupted  the  girl. 

"Yes,  he  did.  He  married  you  in  the  Catholic 
Church.  It  is  true  that  neither  you  nor  he  pro- 
fessed the  faith  of  the  Church,  but  in  all  civ- 
ilized countries  it  would  be  considered  a  legal 
marriage." 

"So  much  the  worse.  I  am  married  to  a  man 
who  would  not  have  me  as  his  wife,  but  as  his — " 

S8 


The  Vision. 

"Hush,"  said  the  Baroness,  putting  her  hand 
on  Rachel's  mouth.  *lt  is  better  to  love  a  bad 
man  than  be  chained  to  one  you  cannot  love. 
Hell  has  no  tortures  more  horrible  than  that." 

"How  can  one  marry  without  love?"  asked 
Rachel. 

"One  does;  some  people  marry  for  position, 
others  to  get  rid  of  their  surroundings,  others 
for  spite,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"And  you — ?"  cried  Rachel  excitedly. 

"Mainly  for  spite,"  the  Baroness  answered 
calmly. 

"You  frighten  me,"  said  Rachel. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  frightened  at.  I  was 
in  love  with  a  cousin;  we  quarreled  and  parted. 
Out  of  spite  and  in  a  spirit  of  bravado  I  married 
some  one  else.  My  husband  was  a  man  of  great 
goodness  of  heart,  but  I  did  not  love  him.  It 
was  two  years  of  torture,  of  a  cold,  passionless 
life  that  maddened  me  and  would  in  the  end  have 
driven  me  to  crime.  But  God's  mercy  saved  me. 
My  husband  died,  and  now  at  the  age  of  five  and 
twenty  I  am  free,  heart-whole,  and  a  mad  poli- 
tician," she  cried  with  a  laugh  that  had  no  ring 
of  gladness  in  it. 

Rachel  drank  in  every  word  eagerly,  and  the 
excitement  threw  her  into  a  fever  that  troubled 
the  doctor  greatly.  He  asked  the  Baroness  to 
communicate  with  the  girl's  relatives,  which  she 
did  at  once,  and  as  a  result  the  Countess  von 
Bruchstein  came  to  Castle  Wysiniaski. 

However,  Rachel  rallied  and  mended  rapidly. 

59 


Children  of  Fate. 

After  a  fortnight  her  aunt  returned  to  Warsaw 
to  prepare  a  reception  for  the  child  of  her  sister. 
She  adored  Rachel,  and  wanted  her  to  grace 
Warsaw  society;  but  Rachel's  mind  was  turned 
in  a  different  direction.  The  Sisters  of  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Immaculate  Conception  near  Vielga 
had  gained  a  great  influence  over  her,  and  in  her 
heart  she  wished  to  stay  with  the  Sisters  rather 
than  go  to  Warsaw. 

But  the  Baroness  dissuaded  her. 

"You  owe  it  to  your  aunt  and  to  yourself  to 
get  as  much  happiness  out  of  life  as  possible; 
you  had  enough  of  trouble.  The  convent  is  good 
only  for  the  very  saintly,  the  stupid,  and  those 
who  have  something  to  live  down.  Our  kind 
must  live  in  the  world.  One  can  do  much  good 
without  being  hooded  and  cloaked  and  dropping 
one's  eyes  at  the  sight  of  a  man." 

"But  there  is  danger  and  temptation  in  the 
world,"  said  Rachel. 

"Well,  what  of  it?  It  lends  a  zest  to  life.  A 
woman  of  the  world  knows  how  to  meet  danger," 
said  the  Baroness. 

"And  temptation?"  asked  Rachel. 

"It  does  not  touch  a  woman  of  sense ;  but  when 
the  right  temptation  comes — " 

"Well?"  asked  Rachel,  eagerly. 
.  "Then  a  woman  is  a  fool  to  run  away  from  it." 

"Oh,  but  the  sin." 

"You  simpleton,  the  right  temptation  is  sancti- 
fied by  God  himself,  for  it  is  love,  it  is  the  bliss 
of  wedded  life ;  and  the  woman  who  does  not 
60 


The  Vision. 

yield  herself  wholly  and  unconditionally  to  it  is 
not  a  woman." 

"Would  you?" 

"Yes,  if  I  loved.  If  I  loved  I  would  yield 
my  very  life,  and  be  his  wife  in  life  and  in  death. 
If  I  hated,  I  would  kill." 

"Do  you  love  any  one?"  Rachel  asked  timidly. 

"I  ?"  said  the  Baroness,  her  cheeks  crimsoning. 
"I— I  do  not  think  I  do." 

"I  pray  God  to  send  you  the  best  He  can  give ; 
you  are  so  beautiful  and  good." 

"No,  no,  Rachelka,  I  am  not  good;  I  never 
was  good.  I  used  to  wish  my  husband  would  die 
even  while  he  had  his  arms  round  me.  I  have 
often  wished  to  slaughter  the  Russians  as  they 
slaughtered  my  people.  There  is  nothing  soft 
or  tender  in  my  nature,  for  God  never  made  any- 
thing right  for  me." 

"Oh,  it  is  sinful  to  speak  thus.  You  are  good. 
You  saved  my  life  and  you  are  so  good  to  every- 
body and — " 

Rachel  stopped,  frightened;  the  Baroness  had 
thrown  herself  on  the  couch  and  sobs  shook  her 
body.  A  few  moments  later  she  sprang  up  and 
smiling  through  her  tears,  said, 

"Do  not  mind  it,  Rachelka,  my  nerves  are  not 
very  strong  to-day.  Perhaps  it  is  because  you 
are  going  to  leave  me.  I  shall  be  so  lonely 
without  you." 

"You  can  come  to  Warsaw,  dear,"  said  Rachel. 

"No,  no,  Rachelka,  I  cannot  go  to  Warsaw, 
at  least  not  just  now.  I  must  stay  here.  My 
6i 


Children  of  Fate. 

happiness,  perhaps  my  life,  depends  upon — stay- 
ing away  from  Warsaw." 

"There  is  great  restlessness  in  Warsaw,"  said 
Rachel,  thinking  that  she  guessed  the  reason  why 
the  Baroness  would  not  go  to  the  capital ;  "but 
that,  of  course,  makes  no  difference  to  me;  my 
work  is  waiting  and  I  must  go  on  with  it  to  find 
peace." 

"And  I  to  find  my  fate,"  said  the  Baroness, 
and  went  quickly  from  the  room. 


62 


CHAPTER  IX. 


UNDER   A    SPELL. 


Rachel's  departure  left  the  Baroness  in  a  con- 
dition that  she  herself  could  scarcely  understand. 
An  unaccountable  nervousness  led  her  at  times 
into  the  wildest  and  most  intemperate  actions. 
In  the  course  of  a  dinner  given  by  her  shortly 
after  Rachel  had  left,  she  became  so  enraged  at 
a  servant  for  some  trifling  inattention  that  she 
ordered  him  instantly  to  be  flogged,  and  a  mo- 
ment later,  regretting  it,  rushed  from  the  room, 
gave  the  servant  a  handful  of  coins  and  almost 
entreated  him  to  be  better  mannered  in  the  fu- 
ture. Then  she  shut  herself  into  her  room  for 
half  an  hour  in  a  fit  of  tears,  after  which  she  re- 
appeared, radiant  and  smiling. 

The  doctor,  whom  she  visited  almost  daily, 
ordered  her  to  go  to  Switzerland;  but  though 
she  had  planned  out  the  journey,  she  put  it  oif 
from  day  to  day.  She  would  not  even  go  to 
Warsaw,  although  Rachel  wrote  her  the  most 
entreating  letters. 

"I  have  found,"  Rachel  wrote,  "more  happi- 
ness than  I  deserve.  My  dear  aunt  indulges  me 
in  my  pleasures,  which  consist  in  going  to  the 
hospitals  and  the  homes  of  the  poor  and  trying 
to  alleviate  as  much  suflfering  as  I  can.  I  never 
knew  that  there  was  so  much  suffering  and  sor- 
row in  the  world  until  I  came  to  this  city.     I  am, 

63 


Children  of  Fate. 

of  course,  mindful  of  what  I  owe  to  my  dear 
aunt,  whose  only  living  relative  I  am,  for  I 
know  she  takes  a  keen  interest  in  social  matters. 
I  beg  of  you,  dear  Amanda,  to  come  here  and 
stay  with  me  a  while.  I  long  to  see  you  and 
to  show  you  how  deep  and  undying  is  my  love 
for  you." 

But  the  Baroness  always  found  an  excuse. 
Her  large  estate  demanded  her  presence.  She 
never  had  known  (she  wrote  in  answer)  how 
wrongly  her  affairs  were  managed  until  she 
looked  into  them  herself. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  her  affairs  did  not  trouble 
her  much.  What  she  longed  for  was  to  find 
the  reason  for  her  unnatural  condition  of  temper 
that  had  grown  to  be  almost  fierce.  If  it  were 
only  loneliness,  that  could  be  overcome.  She 
could,  if  she  so  desired,  have  almost  the  whole 
male  aristocracy  in  the  district  to  amuse  her; 
for  the  number  of  nobles  who  would  have  liked 
to  retrieve  their  fortunes  by  an  alliance  with  her 
was  considerable.  But  she  treated  them  with 
contempt. 

"Our  men,"  she  once  said  to  Countess  de  Lack 
of  Vielga,  ** favor  Polish  women  only  when  they 
have  ruined  their  health  and  their  fortunes  in 
Paris." 

"One  ought  to  be  patriotic  and  encourage  them 
to  stay  at  home,"  the  Countess  rejoined  with  a 
smile. 

"If  ever  I  offer  myself  as  a  sacrifice  on  the 
altar  of  my  country,  it  will  not  be  in  this  man- 

64 


Under  a  Spell. 

ner,"  the  Baroness  replied.  "By  the  way,  when 
is  Waldeck  coming  home?" 

**Not  for  some  time,  I  fear;  he  is  hard  at 
work  at  the  university,  and  is  the  special  favorite 
of  Professor  Baron  von  Horovitz,"  said  the 
Countess. 

"I  wish  he  were  here ;  he  is  the  only  man  with 
whom  one  can  talk  rationally,  and  is  not  a  bore," 
said  the  Baroness. 

''He  is  a  good  boy,"  the  Countess  said,  her  eyes 
shining  with  maternal  pride.  "But  really, 
Amanda,  you  ought  to  marry,"  she  continued, 
"there  are  plenty  of  good  men  in  Poland." 

"I  have  had  enough  of  one  good  man,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  put  my  neck  into  the  yoke  of 
unhappiness  a  second  time." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  she  was  deliber- 
ately going  the  way  to  put  her  neck  in  the  yoke 
of  unhappiness.  Her  daily  rides  to  Dobrzyn 
were  undertaken  with  a  purpose,  a  purpose  she 
dreaded  to  analyze  and  felt  she  could  not  achieve. 

The  Jew,  Joseph,  had  crystallised  into  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  vision,  and  each  time 
she  saw  his  face  and  his  tall,  strong  figure,  a 
great  trembling  seized  her.  Once  she  heard 
him  speak.  She  was  in  the  doctor's  drawing- 
room  in  animated  conversation  with  his  wife 
when  a  visitor  was  announced.  The  doctor 
looked  through  the  glass  door  into  his  office. 

"Ah,  the  young  Jew,  Joseph,"  he  said,  and 
went  to  see  him,  leaving  the  door  partly  open. 

"Well,  my  friend,  what  do  you  want?" 

6s 


Children  of  Fate. 

"My  mother  is  ill  and  I  thought  it  best  to  ask 
you  kindly  to  see  her." 

The  Baroness  heard  the  resonant  tone  of  his 
voice  and  it  thrilled  her  to  the  very  heart. 

Then  the  physician,  perhaps  with  intention, 
asked  for  more  particulars,  which  Joseph  gave 
quite  concisely,  but  at  the  doctor's  effort  to  draw 
him  into  a  broader  field  of  conversation  the 
young  man  became  reserved  and  monosyllabic. 
The  other  did  not  press  him  any  further;  he 
promised  to  call  within  the  half  hour  and  Joseph 
went  away. 

"Did  you  hear  the  speech  of  the  young  Jew?" 
asked  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  he  speaks  rather  well,"  the  Baroness 
replied. 

"Well,  I  shall  have  to  see  his  mother ;  stay  and 
have  tea  with  us,"  he  said,  making  ready  to  go. 

"No,  no,  I  must  go;  I  have  much  to  do;  my 
correspondence  has  been  shamefully  neglected 
of  late.  By  the  way,  doctor,  do  these  people 
pay  you  ?"  she  asked,  fastening  her  glove. 

"One  cannot  expect  much  from  that  class  of 
patients,"  he  said  with  a  laugh. 

"One  ought  to  do  something  for  these  people," 
she  said. 

"Well,  Baroness,  you  are  not  stingy  with  the 
Jews;  you  always  let  them  drive  good  bargains 
in  wheat  and  produce,"  he  remarked. 

"That  is  not  charity,  but  business.  What  I 
mean   is   this   poor   woman,   the   young   man's 

66 


Under  a  Spell. 

mother;  if  she  needs  anything  in  the  way  of 
nourishment,  let  me  know." 

On  the  following  day  she  learned  that  Mrs. 
Rosen's  illness  was  not  at  all  of  a  serious  nature, 
but  that  she  ought  to  have  better  attention. 

When  the  Baroness  left  the  doctor's  house 
she  gave  her  maid  a  hundred  rouble  bill. 

"Take  this  to  the  widow  Rosen,"  she  said, 
"do  not  say  who  sent  it.  Just  talk  to  the  old  lady 
and  then  give  her  the  money.  Do  not  say  who 
you  are.  She  lives  somewhere  on  Back  street; 
they  will  tell  you." 

The  Rosens  were  puzzled  at  the  girl's  visit,  but 
when  she  said  she  cahie  from  the  doctor  they 
felt  more  at  ease. 

"The  doctor  wants  your  mother  to  eat  young 
chickens  and  drink  Burgundy  wine,"  she  said  to 
Joseph.  Her  eyes  danced  as  she  looked  at  the 
young  man. 

"Ah,  young  chickens  and  Burgundy  wine  cost 
much  money,"  said  Mrs.  Rosen.  "God  makes 
us  sick  and  He  can  make  us  well  again." 

"No  doubt,"  said  the  girl,  "but  when  you  can 
get  a  little  money  to  buv  chickens  and  wine  as 
the  doctor  has  ordered,  God  will  not  be  angry." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  I  have  not  the  money  and 
so  I  must  do  without,"  Mrs.  Rosen  rejoined. 

"As  I  love  God,  I'll  give  you  the  money — just 
lend  it  to  you,"  said  the  girl,  and  put  the  bank 
note  on  the  table. 

The  sight  of  the  money  frif^htened  Joseph. 

67 


Children  of  Fate. 

"No,  no,  we  must  not  take  this  money ;  take  it 
back,"  he  cried. 

"Don't  fear,"  she  cried,  "it  is  honest  money 
and  you  may  take  it.  You  can  buy  chickens  and 
wine  for  your  mother.  You  can  get  a  new  satin 
shubah  for  yourself ;  take  it,  handsome  Jew,  take 
it,"  she  coaxed  him.  "And  supposing  I  wanted 
to  give  you  this  money.  It  is  my  money  and  I 
can  do  with  it  what  I  please.  And  supposing  the 
doctor  told  me  to  give  you  the  money?  But  he 
did  not.  I  like  you  and  I  give  you  the  money; 
do,  please,  take  it,"  she  pleaded. 

But  Joseph  would  not  be  persuaded,  and  the 
girl,  deeply  offended,  called  him  a  fool  and  left. 

That  night  the  Baroness  wept  bitterly;  she 
could  not  have  said  why.  When  she  fell  asleep 
she  dreamed,  and  in  her  dream  she  saw  more 
clearly.  She  saw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Christ, 
into  whose  bleeding  hands  she  laid  the  burden 
of  her  sorrow.  He  told  her  to  be  patient  and 
learn  a  lesson  from  her  trial.  Yet  when  she 
awoke  the  influence  seemed  to  have  passed  away 
with  the  dream;  she  became  restless,  and  asked 
herself  what  had  come  over  her.  During  that 
day  and  many  succeeding  days  she  asked  the 
same  question  again  and  again,  always  the  same 
question.  Sometimes  she  asked  it  with  a  sigh, 
at  other  times  half  in  anger,  and  often  in  a  fit  of 
passionate  weeping. 

"Is  it  possible,  dear  Lord  in  heaven,  is  it  pos- 
sible that  I  am  so  forsaken?"  she  once  cried  out. 

She  was  standing  in  front  of  a  large  mirror, 
68 


Under  a  Spell. 

and  as  she  looked  at  the  reflection  of  herself  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  not  the  proud  and 
beautiful  Baroness  Levanovska,  but  a  lowly 
woman,  a  creature  of  ordinary  clay  who  had  no 
right  to  the  possession  of  this  and  a  half  dozen 
other  castles,  no  right  to  the  rich  furniture  and 
thousands  of  costly  articles  that  lay  about  in  the 
great  rooms  of  this  palace,  to  the  exquisite  plate 
that  was  worth  a  king's  ransom,  to  the  retinue 
of  servants  that  obeyed  her  will.  She  was  alone 
in  the  world,  an  atom  of  humanity,  struggling, 
suffering,  and  weeping  without  sympathy,  with- 
out help,  without  hope.  Of  what  good  was  all 
this  wealth  to  her  if  it  could  not  purchase  sur- 
cease from  pain,  if  it  could  not  gain  her  the 
object  she  desired? 

But  what  was  the  object?  What  was  it  she 
longed  for? 

She  was  afraid  to  give  her  thoughts  shape,  to 
put  them  into  words. 

At  length,  turning  from  the  mirror,  she  lay 
down  and  tried  in  vain  to  rest. 

But  the  thoughts  in  her  tortured  brain  would 
not  stop,  the  pain  in  her  heart  would  not  cease. 

She  sprang  up. 

'*!  am  under  a  spell,  a  dreadful  spell ;  I  must 
shake  it  off,"  she  cried,  and  rang  the  bell. 

"The  carriage,"  she  said  to  the  maid. 

Passing  through  the  great  double-pillared  ver- 
anda, down  the  broad  marble  stairs  that  led  to 
the  graveled  walk  of  the  court,  she  came  to 
where  the  carriage  stood  in  waiting,  but  she  took 

69 


Children  of  Fate. 

no  notice  of  it.  Her  eyes  wandered  from  the 
flower  beds  in  the  court  to  the  roofs  of  the 
town,  above  which  the  spire  of  the  old  church 
gleamed  in  the   sunlight. 

The  lackey  held  the  carriage  door  open  and 
looked  at  his  mistress,  but  she  saw  nothing  of  her 
surroundings.  She  stood  motionless,  gazing  into 
the  distance. 

Suddenly  a  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  and 
the  inspector  of  the  estate  rode  into  the  court. 
At  the  sight  of  him  a  thought  seemed  to  have 
come  to  her,  and  her  eyes  kindled. 

"Anton,"  she  called. 

The  inspector  sprang  from  his  horse  and,  cap 
in  hand,  approached  the  Baroness. 

"Has  the  Rabbi  of  Dobrzyn  sent  for  the 
wheat?"  she  asked. 

"Not  yet,  your  ladyship,  although  we  threshed 
it  last  week  and  have  it  ready  for  delivery." 

"Why  was  it  not  sent?" 

"He  would  not  accept  it,"  said  the  inspector, 
his  face  flushing,  "because  it  was  not  watched  b^ 
one  of  themselves  while  it  was  threshed  and 
sacked ;  he  is  afraid,  I  suppose,  that  we  put  pork 
in  the  wheat." 

"Well,  if  we  have  agreed  to  let  him  watch  it, 
he  has  the  right  to  do  so.  Have  some  more 
wheat  cut  and  let  the  Rabbi  know.  Matchek 
will  go  to  town  and  fetch  the  man  the  Rabbi  may 
send." 

"We  must  send  a  hundred  sacks  of  wheat  to 
Mr.  David  Gold  this  forenoon,  your  ladyship, 
70 


Under  a  Spell. 

and  Matchek  might  go  with  the  teamsters,"  said 
the  inspector. 

"No,  let  him  take  the  wagonette.  Matchek, 
exercise  the  horses  for  a  half  hour;  I  shall  not 
drive  out  now,"  she  said,  and  walked  back  into 
the  house. 

She  took  off  her  hat  and  gloves  and  sat  for 
a  long  time  quietly  thinking ;  then  she  sprang  up. 

"If  I  go  to  Paris,  I  shall  be  rid  of  all  these 
gloomy  thoughts.  Yes,  I'll  go  to  Paris  or  to 
Warsaw.  This  is  ridiculous.  I  am  bewitched. 
Because  I  have  not  seen  him  for  three  days  I 
am  making  myself  ill.  To  think  that  he  would 
not  accept  money  from  Anna.  It  was  foolish, 
foolish  and  wicked  of  me  to  send  a  servant.  She 
could  make  no  excuse,  one  at  least  that  a  man 
like  him  would  accept.  I  wonder  if  he  would  have 
taken  it  from  me,"  she  mused,  and  a  happy  smile 
played  on  her  lips. 

"Whom  will  the  Rabbi  send?"  she  murmured. 
"Him  perhaps.  Then  I  shall  see  him  more 
closely;  I  shall  speak  to  him.  Perhaps  at  close 
quarters  the  glamour  will  disappear,  and  I  shall 
be  free.  But  how  can  I  speak  to  him  and  not 
betray  myself?  Oh,  where  is  my  strength,  where 
is  my  courage  ?  Is  it  possible  that  I  love  a  Jew  ? 
I,  I  ?  No,  it  is  impossible.  What  demon  brought 
Rachel  to  my  notice?  Why  did  she  speak  to  me 
of  him?  No,  I  will  not  have  it;  no,  no.  If 
you  looked  a  thousand  times  like  Christ  I  do  not 
want  you.  I  hate  the  Jews.  I  hate  everybody — 
I  hate  myself." 


Children  of  Fate. 

She  threw  herself  down  upon  a  couch.  In 
her  soul  was  unspeakable  rage,  though  in  her 
heart  a  different  fire  was  burning. 

Her  mind  told  her  that  society  would  consider 
her  a  pariah  if  it  knew  that  she  even  thought 
of  so  unheard  of  a  mesalliance.  Her  heart  de- 
fied all  reasoning. 

Her  mind  warned  her  of  a  great  personal  and 
financial  peril  if  she  persisted  in  this  desire,  that 
the  Count  of  Vielga  in  his  unbending  family 
pride  might  put  her  under  guardianship  or  into 
a  lunatic  asylum.  Her  heart  already  schemed 
to  defeat  their  attacks  and  to  defend  her  love. 

This  mood  was  followed  by  a  fit  of  self-re- 
proach. "I  am  Baroness  Levanovska,  and  my 
position  demands  something  of  me.  I  will  not 
yield  to  my  passion  like  a  dairy  maid.  I  am 
mistress  of  my  own  emotions.  I  will  not  see 
him ;  I  will  never  see  him  again." 

She  rang  the  bell  fiercely,  and  to  the  maid 
who  rushed  in  she  seemed  like  one  suddenly 
gone  mad.  Trembingly  the  girl  asked  what 
the  Baroness  wanted. 

"My  horse,"  she  cried,  "and  bring  me  my 
riding  habit." 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  she  stood  outside, 
holding  in  one  hand  the  train  of  her  riding 
gown  and  in  the  other  a  stout  English  riding 
whip.  She  appeared  the  incarnation  of  a  beauti- 
ful fury,  and  the  groom  trembled  as  he  looked 
at  her. 


78 


Under  a  Spell. 

She  swung  herself  upon  the  horse,  a  great, 
fleet-footed  thoroughbred,  who  reared  at  her  grip 
and  dashed  away. 


1^ 


CHAPTER  X. 

'twixt  the  priest  and  the  doctor. 

The  disappearance  of  Rachel  caused  Joseph 
much  anxiety.  But  he  dared  not  speak  of  it  to 
his  mother,  whom  the  girl's  sad  fate  had  caused 
a  great  deal  of  unhappiness.  These  people  were 
primitive ;  their  hearts  felt  keenly  for  their 
neighbour's  sorrow.  Civilization  had  not  taught 
them  the  hard  lesson  of  selfishness,  and  in  the 
little  Polish  town  the  widow  Rosen  and  her  son 
were  warmest  of  all  in  their  love  for  the  unhappy 
girl. 

Mrs.  Rosen  had  asked  several  times  for  Rachel, 
but  Joseph  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  her  what  he 
knew. 

"She  has  gone  away,"  was  all  he  said. 

Of  a  sudden  there  came  to  him  the  absolute 
certainty  that  Rachel  was  alive  and  well.  He 
could  not  have  told  how  this  knowledge  was 
conveyed  to  him,  but  it  was  vivid  and  positive. 

One  day  he  met  the  doctor,  whom  he  saluted 
as  befitted  a  man  of  so  high  a  position  in  the  com- 
munity, by  taking  off  his  cap.  Everybody  in 
Dobrzyn  took  off  their  caps  to  the  doctor.  They 
did  it,  the  priest  had  once  said,  because  they 
were  afraid  of  their  lives.  But  as  the  people 
were  equally  deferential  to  the  priest,  the  doctor 
revenged  himself  by  saying  that  the  people  were 

74      . 


'TwiXT  THE  Priest  and  the  Doctor. 

afraid  of  their  death  at  the  sight  of  the  priest, 
as  he  invariably  took  their  money  for  the  Church. 
These  two  men  had  long  agreed  to  disagree  ex- 
cepting" on  one  point,  and  that  was  Joseph.  Like 
Kaminski  and  Janushek,  they  too  found  it  hard 
to  believe  the  evidence  of  their  senses.  Joseph 
was  not  a  Jew;  that  was  their  assertion,  and 
nothing  he  said  could  alter  their  conviction. 

''Did  you  ever  see  a  Jew  who  was  not  bitter 
against  Christ  and  the  Church?  and  this  Joseph 
does  and  says  things  of  which  Christ  and  the 
holy  ChuEch  would  fully  approve,"  said  the 
priest. 

"It  is  certainly  so,  Father,  judging  by  what  I 
have  heard  and  have  observed  myself.  But  I 
should  like  to  know  his  sentiments  with  regard 
to  our  cause,"  the  doctor  rejoined. 

"He  will  be  here  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  if 
you  are  here  we  might  ask  him." 

"You  may  ask,  but  ten  to  one  he  will  not 
answer." 

"He  will,"  said  the  priest. 

"We  shall  see ;  if  it  were  not  against  my  latest 
principle  I  would  bet  you  a  basket  of  good  Bur- 
gundy," the  doctor  rejoined. 

"As  I  should  have  to  send  the  Burgundy  to 
your  house  first  in  case  you  lost  the  bet,  I  think 
we  had  better  not  bet;  but  you  try  and  be  here 
at  two  o'clock  to-morrow,*'  said  the  priest. 

"Very  well.  Father,"  replied  the  doctor,  and 
went  away. 

In  the  square  he  met  Joseph  and  when  the 

75 


Children  of  Fate. 

latter,  as  we  have  said,  saluted  him,  the  doctor 
stopped  him. 

"How  are  you,  my  friend,  and  how  is  your 
mother?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you." 

"Have  you  had  any  news  of  Rachelka  ?"  asked 
the  doctor. 

Joseph  looked  up  quickly. 

"She  is  well,  I  know,  although  I  have  not 
heard  from  nor  of  her  since  I  called  you  to  aid 
her,"  said  Joseph. 

"Then  how  do  you  know?"  asked  the  doctor; 
but  as  Joseph  made  no  reply,  the  doctor  said, 
"Yes,  she  is  well  and  far  from  here." 

At  this  Joseph  smiled. 

The  doctor  saw  the  smile  and  it  affected  him 
wonderfully. 

"If  Christ  had  smiled  that  way  the  Jews,  your 
brethren,  would  never  have  crucified  him,"  he 
said. 

"He  did  not  smile  because  he  knew  that  your 
brethren,  sir  doctor,  would  forever  tell  this  false- 
hood," Joseph  replied. 

The  doctor  clapped  his  hands  and  laughed 
loud. 

"As  I  love  God  you  have  wit  as  well  as  holi- 
ness. Will  you  repeat  it  to  the  Father?  I  will 
go  to  him  now  if  you  will  tell  him  that,"  cried  the 
doctor. 

"I  am  going  to  see  him  now,  but  I  shall  not 
repeat  to  him  what  I  said  to  you,"  said  Joseph. 

"And  why,  pray?" 


TwixT  THE  Priest  and  the  Doctor. 

''Because  he  is  a  priest  and  he  believes  what 
theology  teaches   on   this   subject." 

"And  you  do  not?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"No,  you  do  not/'  Joseph  replied. 

"A  revelation,  as  I  live,  a  revelation." 

"Which  I  beg  you,  sir  doctor,  not  to  communi- 
cate to  the  Father." 

"I  consent,  on  one  condition." 

"Well?" 

"That  you  take  part  in  our  discussion,  for  the 
Father  and  I  will  talk  politics." 

"If  I  am  able  to  follow  I  will  gladly  do  so." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  you  were  evidently  anxious  about 
the  Burgundy,"  cried  the  priest  as  soon  as  he  saw 
his  visitors. 

"Something  worse  might  happen  to  your  Bur- 
gundy, Father,  than  to  be  drunk  by  good  Poles, 
and  something  might  have  happened  to  it  if  the 
Pultava  regiment  had  taken  quarters  in  town," 
said  the  doctor. 

"Well,  my  young  friend,  are  you  still  engrossed 
in  the  history  of  the  French  Revolution?"  asked 
the  priest,  shaking  hands  with  Joseph. 

"No,  Father,  I  am  reading  the  history  of  our 
own  unfortunate  country,"  said  Joseph. 

"That  is  right,  my  son ;  it  is  a  glorious  history, 
a  history  of  the  most  liberal  people  and  the  fairest 
land  in  all  Europe.  But  its  fall,  ah,  its  fall,  its 
oppression,  is  without  parallel." 

"You  forget  Judaea,  Father,"  said  Joseph. 

"Judaea  was  doomed  to  destruction  ;  the  people 
had  sinned  against  God ;  they  crucified  His  Son." 

77 


Children  of  Fatie. 

The  doctor  looked  at  Joseph,  but  the  latter 
was  silent. 

"Then,  too,  the  Jews  had  no  leaders,"  the  priest 
continued. 

*'Do  not  say  that.  Father,"  said  Joseph.  'The 
Jews  had  mighty  leaders,  but  the  nation  died  of 
the  same  disease  as  Poland." 

*'What  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  priest. 

"Lack  of  discipline,  want  of  cohesion;  Rome 
had  both  and  so  has  Russia." 

The  doctor  and  the  priest  were  startled;  the 
idea  seemed  a  new  one  to  them. 

"Thus  you  conclude — "  said  the  doctor. 

"That  a  united  people  is  invincible,"  Joseph 
replied. 

"Then  you  think  there  is  no  hope  for  our 
country?"  cried  the  priest. 

"I  do  not  say  that;  hope  is  the  gracious  gift 
of  God.  A  brave  people  like  ours  may  hope,  but 
they  must  be  united.  I  have  read  that  the  Am- 
erican people,  once  few  in  number,  defied  and 
defeated  the  English  nation.  The  American 
people  were  united." 

"Blood  of  Christ,"  cried  the  doctor,  "these 
are  brave  words,  and  doubly  brave  coming  from 
the  mouth  of  a  Jew.  Tell  me,  would  you  fight 
for  the  liberty  of  Poland  ?" 

"I  will  fight  against  the  oppressor,  if  I  be 
deemed  worthy  to  give  my  life  for  the  sacred 
cause,"  he  replied. 

Moved  by  the  same  impulse,  the  priest  and  the 
doctor  threw  their  arms  around  Joseph. 

78 


TwiXT  THE  Priest  and  the  Doctor. 

"Brother,"  they  cried. 

Joseph  was  deeply  moved  at  this  manifestation 
of  kindness,  and  when  the  others  had  seated 
themselves  he  remained  standing,  his  flushed 
face  betraying  the  agitation  in  his  heart. 

To  the  eye  of  the  doctor  he  seemed  like  a  super- 
natural being,  and  all  at  once  the  latter  realised 
that  Baroness  Levanovska  might  well  have  con- 
ceived a  passion  for  this  young  god. 

When  Joseph  bade  them  au  revoir  the  doctor 
said, 

"We  may  want  your  services  any  day ;  the 
Baroness  Levanovska  may  send  you  on  a  mis- 
sion." 

"I  shall  be  ready,"  said  Joseph  and  went  away. 

On  the  square  he  was  met  by  a  little  boy  who 
told  him  that  the  Rabbi  desired  to  see  him  at 
once,  and  he  went  to  the  Rabbi's  house. 

"Joseph,"  said  the  Rabbi,  "the  inspector  of  the 
Baroness  Levanovska's  estate  has  sent  word  that 
the  wheat  I  ordered  for  the  Passover  is  ready 
to  be  threshed.  Go  there  and  see  that  it  is  prop- 
erly handled  and  be  careful  that  no  moisture  gets 
to  it.  The  Baroness  has  sent  a  wagonette,  so 
you  can  go  at  once." 

Joseph  promised  to  be  careful.  He  went  home 
to  bid  his  mother  good-bye,  then  returned  to  the 
Rabbi's  house,  where  the  wagonette  was  wait- 
ing. He  climbed  up  beside  the  coachman,  and 
they  set  off  through  Back  street  on  to  the  road 
to  Wysiniaski. 


79 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   REALITY. 

Matchek,  the  coachman,  cast  furtive  glances 
at  Joseph,  who  seemed  in  deep  thought.  They 
had  passed  a  large  wooden  crucifix  before  which 
Matchek  uncovered  his  head.  As  he  looked  up 
to  the  wooden  representation  of  the  crucified 
Christ  and  then  at  his  neighbor,  he  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross. 

*'As  I  love  God,"  he  cried,  "it  is  wonderful." 

Joseph  turned  quickly. 

"What  is  wonderful?"  he  asked. 

"Your  face,"  Matchek  replied. 

Joseph  smiled  but  made  no  reply.  He  was 
used  to  these  remarks.  They  had  caused  him 
pain  and  pleasure  in  years  gone  by.  He  was  not 
really  interested  in  them.  It  had  often  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  very  unfortunate  to  resemble 
a  person  so  utterly  hated  by  one  class  and  so 
fully  adored  by  another.  He  had  derived  no 
benefit  from  the  r.esemblance,  as  he  was  not  high- 
ly respected  by  the  Jews  nor  greatly  honored  by 
the  Christians ;  he  was  after  all  "the  Jew  Joseph". 

While  these  thoughts  ran  through  his  mind, 
Matchek,  too,  was  thinking,  and  at  length  gave 
it  expression  by  asking, 

"Are  you  a  Jew?" 

"I  am  a  Jew,"  was  the  reply. 
80 


The  Reality. 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  look  like  one ;  you  look  like 
our  Lord  Christ ;  how  can  you  be  a  Jew  ?"  the 
driver  clinched  the  argument. 

Joseph  gazed  into  the  distance,  a  sad  smile 
hovering  on  his  lips. 

Suddenly  his  features  became  animated,  a  flush 
spread  over  his  face. 

"Yonder  is  a  rimaway  horse,"  he  cried,  point- 
ing straight  ahead,  "and  it  is  coming  this  way. 
Turn  to  the  side  and  stop  the  horses." 

"As  I  love  God,  so  it  is.  Mary,  Mother  of 
God !  it  is  our  Tyrant.  Oh,  help,  Holy  Virgin ! 
the  Baroness !  Look,  the  bridle  is  hanging  down 
and  she  is  clinging  to  the  saddle.  Help!  good 
saints  in  heaven,  help!" 

"Stop  the  horses,"  said  Joseph  curtly. 

But  Matchek  was  so  excited  that  he  was  unable 
to  do  this. 

Seeing  the  necessity  of  immediate  action,  Jo- 
seph grasped  the  reins  and  with  a  tug  brought 
the  horses  to  a  halt.  He  sprang  from  the  wagon- 
ette, and  tying  the  reins  to  the  front  wheel,  told 
Matchek  to  alight.  In  a  moment  Joseph's  long 
mantle  was  off;  he  grabbed  the  wide  wagonette 
cover  and  told  Matchek  to  hold  on  to  one  side. 

"Mother  of  God,  what  good  will  this  do?"  he 
moaned. 

"We  will  throw  it  over  the  horse's  head,  it  will 
stop  him.  I  saw  it  done  in  Nureck's  field,"  said 
Joseph. 

They  held  the  cover  stretched  like  a  screen, 

8i 


Children  of  Fate. 

and  as  the  maddened  animal  came  close,  Joseph 
cried, 

"Throw !" 

The  horse  went  down.  He  tried  to  rise,  but 
Joseph  held  his  head,  at  the  same  time  calling  to 
Matchek  to  take  the  Baroness  from  the  saddle. 

But  the  animal  struggled  and  kicked,  so  that 
Matchek  could  not  approach.  The  Baroness 
lay  on  the  side  of  the  horse ;  she  was  unconscious, 
but  in  no  danger  of  being  hurt  by  the  horse's 
kicks. 

"Come  here  and  hold  his  head  down,"  cried 
Joseph,  "I'll  see  what  I  can  do.  Have  you  a 
knife?  Well,  put  it  on  the  ground  and  come 
here." 

In  a  moment  Joseph  had  cut  the  girth  of  the 
saddle,  and  carried  the  inanimate  form  of  the 
Baroness  to  the  wagonette. 

"Fetch  water  from  the  creek,"  said  he. 

"How?"  cried  Matchek. 

"In  your  cap ;  hurry." 

Matchek  let  go  of  the  horse,  who  struggled  to 
its  feet  and  galloped  back  to  the  castle. 

"What  will  you  do  with  the  water?"  asked 
Matchek. 

Joseph  was  struck  with  the  same  thought. 

"The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  take  her  home 
as  fast  as  we  can,"  said  he.  "Hold  her  ladyship 
while  I  put  on  my  coat." 

While  he  was  putting  on  his  long  mantle, 
Joseph,  who  was  accustomed  to  think  quickly, 
realised  immediately  in  what  a  predicament  he 
82 


The  Reality. 

would  be  if  he  were  to  hold  the  Baroness  as 
Matchek  was  holding  her — like  a  child  in  the 
arms  of  its  mother.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
irresolute. 

*'Now,  why  don't  you  come  here?"  cried  Mat- 
chek. 

"Get  up  to  your  seat,"  said  Joseph. 

"You  get  in  first  and  take  her  ladyship,  quick ; 
I  must  drive,  mustn't  I?"  cried  Matchek. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose  and  so  Joseph  was 
forced  to  get  into  the  wagonette  and  take  the 
Baroness  from  Matchek's  arms.  A  few  moments 
later  Matchek  was  driving  at  a  rapid  pace  toward 
the  castle. 

Not  once  while  he  held  her  in  his  arms  did 
Joseph  look  at  the  woman  whose  head  rested  on 
his  breast.  His  thoughts  were  far  away,  with  his 
mother,  with  Rachel,  with  the  doctor  and  the 
priest,  and  with  God,  whom  he  prayed  to  save  the 
life  of  this  high  born  Gentile  who  had  met  so  sud- 
den an  end  even  in  the  morning  of  her  life.  He 
believed  she  was  dead,  yet  he  prayed  for  a  mir- 
acle. His  eyes  were  turned  heavenward  and  his 
lips  moved  in  voiceless  prayer. 

Suddenly  the  Baroness  opened  her  eyes;  she 
saw  the  face  of  Joseph  and  a  tremor  ran  through 
her  body.  She  sighed  and  closed  her  eyes  ;  it  was 
a  dream,  a  delicious,  sacred  dream ;  she  was  dead 
and  in  heaven. 

However,  the  living  present  was  too  strong 
for  a  dream ;  the  strong  arms  that  held  her  told 
only  of  life,  of  power,  of  love.     She  clearly  re- 

83 


Children  of  Fate. 

called  what  had  happened;  she  had  tried  to  ride 
down  her  excitement  by  racing  over  the  long 
road,  had  taken  fences  and  ditches  recklessly,  and 
had  whipped  the  horse  on  and  on  until  he  got  be- 
yond her  control.  The  reins  fell  from  her  nerve- 
less hands,  she  had  just  a  moment's  presence  of 
mind  to  fasten  her  skirt  and  girdle  around  the 
saddle  horn,  then  she  sank  upon  the  horse's  neck 
and  all  was  dark.  But  now  she  saw;  she  saw 
clearly  that  she  could  not  run  away  from  her  fate 
— she  was  in  its  very  arms.  Joseph  had  evidently 
saved  her  life.  The  thought  overpowered  her  and 
great  sobs  shook  her  body. 

He  saw  her  tears,  and  together  with  the  in- 
tense relief  that  he  felt  at  the  evidence  of  her 
recovery,  came  also  distress  at  the  idea  that  she 
might  be  hurt  and  in  pain. 

"Gracious  lady ** 

He  could  say  no  more.  ^" 

"You  have  saved  my  life,"  she  said. 

"Is  your  ladyship  in  pain  ?" 

"Was  I  thrown  when  you  found  me?"  she 
asked. 

"No,  we  brought  the  horse  down.  Your  lady- 
ship is  not  hurt,  I  hope?" 

"No,  I  am  only  tired,"  she  replied,  and  closed 
her  eyes.  God  is  good  she  thought,  and  abandon- 
ed herself  to  the  delicious  feeling  that  permeated 
her  whole  being. 

When  the  wagonette  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
broad  steps  and  the  frightened  servants  crowded 

84 


The  Reality. 

about  their  adored  mistress,  the  latter  said  to 
Joseph, 

"Carry  me  into  the  room." 

Without  a  word  he  rose  and  carried  her  into 
the  house. 

Having  placed  her  on  a  couch,  he  quickly  with- 
drew. In  the  hall  he  was  met  by  the  inspector, 
whom  Matchek  had  informed  of  all  that  had 
taken  place. 

"I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  our  people  for  the 
service  you  rendered  our  gracious  mistress,"  said 
the  inspector. 

"Sir  Inspector,"  said  Joseph,  "I  have  done  my 
duty,  and  God  gave  me  the  strength  to  do  it.  I 
am  glad  to  have  been  of  service  to  her  lady- 
ship. And  now,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I'll  look 
after  the  wheat." 

As  they  went  toward  the  granaries  the  in- 
spector said,  "Ah,  if  all  Jews  were  like  you." 

"Sir  Inspector,"  said  Joseph,  "in  the  sight  of 
God  there  are  neither  Jews  nor  Gentiles,  but 
human  beings  He  has  made,  just  as  this,  our 
mother  country,  knows  neither  Jews  nor  Gentiles, 
but  Poles  who  must  try  to  love  one  another  for 
her  sake." 

The  inspector  stood  still  and  looked  at  the 
young  Jew  who  had  said  this,  then  he  grasped 
his  hand  and  with  a  voice  that  ill  concealed  his 
deep  emotion,  he  said, 

"Brother,  you  are  a  Pole." 


8s 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  THOUSAND  ROUBLES. 

The  Baroness,  although  not  hurt,  was  very 
weak  from  the  shock,  and  the  doctor  who  soon 
afterward  arrived  at  the  castle  ordered  absolute 
quiet.     No  one  was  admitted  to  see  her. 

Joseph  stayed  long  enough  to  see  the  wheat 
sacked  and  locked  in  a  large  bin  which  he  sealed, 
then  he  went  away  unobserved  and  walked  back 
to  Dobrzyn. 

He  had  hardly  got  into  his  house  when  the 
door  opened  and  a  thick-set,  ruddy-faced 
stranger  appeared. 

"Does  Reb  Solomon  Rosen  live  here?"  he 
asked. 

"Alas,  his  widow  lives  here,"  said  Mrs.  Rosen. 
"Who  is  it?" 

"Reb  Solomon  dead !"  he  exclaimed.  "Blessed 
be  the  Righteous  Judge.  It  seemed  as  if  it  were 
but  yesterday  I  bade  him  good-bye." 

"Who  are  you  ?"  the  widow  asked. 

"I  am  Yoel  Sager  from  Plotzk.  I  arrived  a 
few  days  ago  from  America  and  I  have  a  mes- 
sage to  deliver  to  you,  some  good  news." 

"Ah,  Yoel  Sager ;  yes,  I  remember.  Why,  that 
must  be  nearly  twenty-three  years  ago,  for  it 
was  soon  after  the  birth  of  my  blessed  son  Jos- 
eph.   Have  you  prospered?"  she  asked. 

"Thanks  be  to  the  Lord  who  has  made  me 
86 


A  Thousand  Roubles. 

prosper  in  that  strange  and  wonderful  land,"  he 
replied. 

"And  are  you  going  to  stay  in  Poland?"  she 
asked. 

"God  forbid,"  he  said.  "I  came  to  visit  the 
graves  of  my  father  and  mother  and  then  I  am 
going  back  to  my  family  in  New  York." 

"Did  you — did  you  meet  my  brother-in-law. 
Max?"  cried  the  widow  excitedly. 

"Of  course  I  did.  He  is,  or  was,  for  he  died 
a  year  ago,  one  of  the  richest  men  in  New  York, 
a  millionaire,  I  tell  you.  Now,  of  course,  his  son 
has  it  all ;  but  Howard  Rosen  is  one  of  the  fin- 
est men  in  New  York,  and  he  will  soon  be  here," 
he  said. 

The  widow  seemed  not  to  have  heard  the  last 
remarks.    Her  body  swayed  to  and  fro. 

"Poor  Max  dead,  dead,"  she  said.  "All,  all, 
every  one  gone,  my  poor  husband,  now  Max  too ; 
and  my  brother — alas,  God  only  knows  where  he 
is.  My  dear  son,  we  are  alone  in  the  world  now. 
I  had  hoped  that  some  day  you  would  receive 
something  to  further  your  fortune,  I  had  hoped 
that  Max  would  remember  us ;  but  suffering  is 
our  inheritance;  let  us  not  murmur,  lest  we  sin 
against  the  Lord." 

Her  voice  had  gradually  fallen,  and  the  last 
words  were  spoken  almost  in  a  whisper. 

Joseph,  who  had  stood  by  his  mother's  side, 
put  his  arm  around  her. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "have  no  regrets ;  we  can- 
not go  against  the  will  of  God." 

87 


Children  of  Fate. 

The  woman  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"My  dear  child,"  she  sobbed,  "It  was  for 
your  sake,  only  for  your  sake.  Your  uncle  Max 
is  dead,  and  the  second  generation  forgets,  for- 
gets." 

"Dear  mother,  do  not  worry  on  my  account; 
it  has  pleased  God  to  keep  me  in  lowly  sta- 
tion, but  we  have  not  gone  hungry.  God,  who 
cares  for  all,  has  provided  for  us,  and  we  live. 
Perhaps  it  is  my  destiny  to  serve  others;  then, 
dear  mother,  let  me  keep  on  in  the  service;  let 
me  do  what  is  right  though  I  had  to  sacrifice  my 
life." 

Sager  sat  like  one  dazed;  open-mouthed,  he 
listened  to  the  words  of  the  young  man  in  whose 
meekness  lay  a  power  that  seemed  divine.  At 
length  he  found  sufficient  mastery  over  himself  to 
speak,  but  his  voice  was  husky  with  emotion. 

"I  always  thought  that  Howard  Rosen  was  a 
prince  among  men  by  his  education,  by  his 
manner,  by  his  charities,  but  here  is  his  superior. 
Young  man,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  worthy  of  the 
best  this  world  can  give,  and  I  feel  honored  in 
knowing  you.  Your  cousin  Howard  is  coming 
to  this  country  on  some  business  of  great  im- 
portance. I  do  not  know  how  soon  he  will  be 
here,  but  he  will  be  here  this  summer.  Before 
T  left  New  York  he  gave  me  five  hundred  dol- 
lars to  give  you.  I  changed  it  into  Russian 
money  and  here  it  is,"  he  said,  "a  thousand  rou- 
bles." 

"A  thousand  routjles'!"  cried  Mrs.  Rosen. 
88 


A  Thousand  Roubles. 

"Dear  mother,"  said  Joseph,  "a  thousand  rou- 
bles is  a  great  deal  of  money  and  for  your  sake 
I  am  glad  to  have  it,  but  as  for  myself,  it  comes 
too  late.  Good  friend,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Sager,  "I 
do  not  undervalue  the  kindness  of  my  cousin,  but 
of  what  good  is  money  to  me  now  except  to  as- 
sist those  less  fortunate?  If  this  money  had 
come  years  ago  I  might  have  lived  up  to  my 
birthright,  I  might  have  become  qualified  to 
work  successfully  for  humanity.  But  to-day  all 
this  is  scarcely  possible.  I  am  stamped  a  beg- 
gar. 

Mr.  Sager  was  moved  by  the  force  of  passion 
which  this  statement  suggested.  In  it  spoke  the 
accumulated  suffering  of  a  lifetime.  He  rose 
and,  taking  the  young  man's  hand,  said, 

"There  are  many  sins  committed  in  this  world, 
but  the  sin  of  neglecting  those  who  with  proper 
aid  might  become  as  beacon  lights  to  their  fel- 
low men,  is  surely  the  greatest  of  all  sins.  I  have 
this  evening  learned  a  lesson  I  shall  not  forget. 
God  bless  you,  my  young  friend,  and  may  He 
wipe  out  your  suffering.  Better  days  are  in 
store  for  you.  And  now  I  must  go  back  to  Plotzk. 
Farewell!" 

He  shook  hands  with  Joseph  and  Mrs.  Rosen 
and  left. 


89 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   MISSION    OF  JOSEPH. 

"Mother,"  said  Joseph,  "  the  doctor  wants  to 
see  me  and " 

"What  is  it,  my  son?"  she  asked,  seeing  that 
he  hesitated. 

"I  may  have  to  go  away  for  a  day." 

"You  know  best,  dear;  if  it  is  necessary,  go," 
she  said. 

"I  don't  like  to  leave  you  alone,  mother." 

"Don't  be  alarmed  on  my  account,  my  son; 
but  you  might  ask  Mrs.  Kaminski  to  send  over 
her  little  girl." 

"Very  well,"  said  Joseph,  "I'll  send  her  over, 
as  I  may  have  to  start  immediately  on  the  doctor's 
errand." 

"Go,  and  God  be  with  you,  my  son." 

Joseph  kissed  his  mother  and  went  to  the  doc- 
tor's office.  He  was  asked  to  go  into  the  private 
room,  but  when  he  entered  and  saw  who  was 
there,  he  hesitated. 

"Enter,  brother,"  cried  the  priest  and  the  doc- 
tor. 

He  was  introduced  to  the  several  nobles  pres- 
ent. 

"Well,"  cried  Bogadski,  a  wealthy  landowner 
from  across  the  Vistula,  "A  man  is  a  man  and 
a  Pole  is  a  Pole,  as  long  as  his  heart  is  in  the 
90 


The  Mission  of  Joseph. 

right  place.  But  I  would  ask  you,  my  friend,  of 
what  use  is  it  to  have  one  Jew  amongst  us  when 
all  the  others  are  afraid  of  their  own  shadows 
and  hold  with  the  Russians  ?" 

*Tan  Bogadski,"  said  the  priest,  "you  are 
badly  informed  on  the  subject;  but  this  is  not  the 
object  of  our  meeting.  It  is  first,  to  find  our  Pan 
Kolbe,  secondly  to  send  him  the  twenty  thou- 
sand roubles  for  which  he  asked  the  committee 
several  months  ago,  and  thirdly,  to  find  out  how 
many  men  he  needs.  Prussia  is  now  at  war  with 
Austria  and  our  operations  can  be  carried  on 
with  greater  hope  of  success  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  it  appears  to  me." 

"You  will  find  it  very  difficult,  Father,  to 
reach  Pan  Kolbe,  and  even  more  difficult  to  send 
him  money,  as  the  roads  are  covered  with  the 
Cossacks  who  are  on  his  track,"  said  Bogadski. 

"That  difficulty  will  be  overcome  easier  than 
you  think,  Brother  Bogdan,"  the  priest  replied. 
"Our  young  frend  here  will  do  both.'* 

All  looked  at  Joseph. 

"You!"  cried  Bogadski  who  sat  next  to  Jo- 
seph. 

"It  will  be  an  honor  to  serve  my  countrymen," 
he  calmly  replied. 

A  clapping  of  hands  greeted  the  remark. 

"As  I  love  God,  this  is  the  speech  of  a  Pole," 
cried  Bogadski.  "But  you  may  find  your  death 
in  the  attempt." 

"To  die  in  the  service  of  humanity  is  an  end 
any  good  man  might  seek;  to  die  in  the  service 
91 


Children  of  Fate. 

of  one's  oppressed  country  is  a  glory  for  which 
every  patriot  longs  and  in  which  he  finds  his 
richest  reward.  I  am  ready  to  go  wherever 
you  may  send  me." 

"Bravo !  bravo !  Long  live  Poland !"  they  cried, 
and  springing  up  they  surrounded  him,  each 
eager  to  shake  his  hand. 

Amid  all  the  talk  and  excitement  Joseph  re- 
mained calm.  Suddenly  his  face  flushed,  for  in 
the  door  leading  from  the  front  room  stood  the 
Baroness  Levanovska. 

As  soon  as  the  nobles  saw  her,  they  greeted 
her  enthusiastically  and  each  kissed  her  hand ; 
but  her  eyes  saw  only  Joseph  who,  with  bent 
head,  waited  to  be  spoken  to. 

She  approached  him. 

Bogadski  hastened  forward. 

"Gracious  Baroness,"  he  cried,  "let  me  in- 
troduce to  you  the  best  Jew  my  eyes  have  ever 
beheld." 

"Pan  Rosen,"  said  the  Baroness,  and  stretched 
forth  her  hand. 

A  thrill  went  through  Joseph ;  it  was  the  first 
time  in  his  life  that  any  one  had  ever  called  him 
Pan  Rosen. 

He  took  the  proffered  hand  but  did  not  kiss  it. 

"Kiss  the  hand  of  the  gracious  Baroness," 
cried  Bogadski,  "you  are  a  gentleman,  and  as 
good  a  Pole  as  ever  breathed.    Kiss  her  hand." 

Joseph  bent  down  and  kissed  the  hand.  His 
confusion  was  great. 


92 


The  Mission  of  Joseph. 

"I  ought  to  kiss  your  hand,"  whispered  the 
Baroness,  "you  saved  my  life/' 

*1  thank  you,"  he  murmured.  He  was  so  over- 
come that  he  sought  the  chair  by  his  side  to 
steady  himself. 

But  the  Baroness  added  to  his  confusion  by 
saying, 

"Gentlemen,  this  Pole  has  saved  my  life  by  the 
greatest  bravery,  and  I  beg  to  commend  him  to 
your  kindest  regard." 

A  great  shout  of  "bravo"  greeted  the  remark. 
When  all  were  seated  the  priest  said, 

"The  only  thing  that  is  needed  to  make  Yushu 
absolutely  one  of  ourselves  is  his  baptism  in  the 
Holy  Mother  Church." 

"Well,  Brother,"  said  Bogadski,  "what  do  you 
say  to  this  V 

"I  say  that  I  should  be  unworthy  your  confi- 
dence if  I  consented." 

"How?"  cried  Bogden  Bogadski,  who  being  a 
choleric  man,  his  face  darkened  at  this  remark. 

"My  experience  in  life  is  very  limited,"  said 
Joseph,  "but  I  know  that  honour  and  love  are 
won  by  faithfulness  in  the  cause  for  which  a 
man  lives  and  works.  Could  you  trust  one  to 
whose  name  was  attached  the  stigma  of  traitor  ?" 

"But  the  Jews  are  wrong  and  we  are  right," 
said  the  priest. 

"The  Jews  say  that  you  are  wrong  and  they 
are  right,  and  my  faith  is  the  Jewish ;  but  I  am 
not  called  upon  to  decide  who  is  wrong  and 
who  is  right.    All  I  know  is  that  I  hold  a  faith, 

93 


Children  of  Fate. 

and  whosoever  breaks  a  faith  is  a  traitor.  If 
I  am  wrong  in  this  I  shall  answer  to  my  God, 
for  He  alone  knows  the  truth.  But  I  have  an- 
other faith,  and  that  is  the  faith  of  my  oppressed 
and  downtrodden  country.  For  this  faith  I  am 
accountable  to  you,  my  countrymen.  I  shall  not 
break  the  religious  faith,  so  that  I  may,  if  need 
be,  die  honorably  for  the  faith  of  a  Pole." 

The  nobles  applauded  Joseph's  words  while 
the  Baroness  looked  at  him  through  her  tears; 
she  felt  so  humble  in  his  presence,  so  grateful 
that  God  had  permitted  her  to  know  this  man, 
that  she  could  have  thrown  herself  at  his  feet 
and  begged  him  to  permit  her  to  serve  him  as 
a  creature  too  lowly  to  love  him. 

Bogadski  too,  was  fascinated  by  the  young  Jew, 
and  during  the  subsequent  discussion  as  to  the 
best  means  of  keeping  up  the  revolutionary 
activity,  his  manner  to  Joseph  was  most  deferen- 
tial. 

At  length  it  was  decided  that  Joseph  should 
go  to  Wysiniaski  and  thence  proceed  to  Shireps 
where  Kolbe  with  his  small  force  was  in  hiding. 

To  the  Baroness,  who  offered  him  her  car- 
riage, Joseph  said, 

"It  is  best  that  I  should  walk;  it  will  excite 
no  suspicion." 

Two  hours  later  Joseph  was  driven  to  Shireps, 
and  through  the  good  offices  of  the  druggist,  a 
trusted  friend  of  Kolbe,  he  came  face  to 
face  with  the  great  leader.  But  it  was  a  sad 
message  he  brought  back.     The  leader  himself 

94 


The  Mission  of  Joseph. 

was  disheartened ;  his  people  were  scattered,  and 
he  was  making  arrangements  to  go  to  France. 
He  desired  to  return  the  money  to  the  Baroness, 
but  Joseph  told  him  that  his  orders  were  to 
give  him  the  money  as  a  gift  from  her.  Kolbe's 
low  spirits  affected  Joseph  as  a  personal  calamity, 
and  on  the  way  home  he  was  silent,  though 
Matchek  tried  hard  to  draw  him  into  conver- 
sation. 

"Lost,  lost,  all  is  lost,"  he  murmured. 


95 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


At  one  of  the  windows  of  the  Castle  the  Bar- 
oness stood,  eagerly  scanning  the  road  to  Shireps. 
The  morning  was  far  advanced,  the  clock  had 
struck  eight,  but  still  there  was  no  sign  of  Jo- 
seph. She  opened  the  window,  adjusted  a  field- 
glass,  and  tried  to  throw  her  sight  as  far  into  the 
distance  as  her  heart  had  gone.  At  last  she 
heaved  a  great  sigh — more  of  a  sob  than  a  sigh — 
and  putting  her  hand  to  her  bosom  said, 

'Thank  God,  they  are  coming." 

She  took  a  book  and  sat  down.  A  few  min- 
utes later  Joseph  stood  before  her. 

"Why  so  sad,  my  friend?"  she  asked. 

"Ah,  your  ladyship,  I  am  the  bearer  of  bad 
news,"  he  said. 

"And  it  is?"  she  asked. 

"Kolbe  told  me  to  tell  your  ladyship  and  all 
the  friends  here  that  the  star  of  Poland  has  set ; 
that  we  are  in  the  clutch  of  the  bear  and  that  we 
must  wait  a  better  opportunity  or  get  the  aid 
of  Napoleon." 

The  Baroness  appeared  little  affected  by  the 
news. 

"Ah,  well.  Pan  Kolbe  knows  best;  no  better 
man  could  possibly  go  to  Napoleon.  But,  pray  be 
seated,"  she  said,  and  pointed  to  a  chair  by  her 
side. 

96 


The  Temptation. 

"And  meanwhile?"  he  asked. 

"We  must  submit,  and  try  to  live  for  other 
things.  There  is  much  pleasure  to  be  got  out  of 
life  besides  politics,"  she  rejoined.  "I  suppose 
you  find  pleasure  in  many  things." 

"Pleasure — I  never  think  of  that.  How 
could  I?  I  only  do  my  duty.  I  do  not  know 
anything  else,"  he  said  falteringly. 

"But  I  am  told  that  you  are  well  read,  and  that 
you  are  a  linguist;  then  literature  must  be  one 
of  your  pleasures.  If  so,  you  are  enjoying  pleas- 
ures beyond  the  reach  of  many  of  the  wealthiest 
in  the  land." 

This  clever  manoeuvre  disarmed  him  com- 
pletely. All  the  time  he  had  been  in  her  pres- 
ence he  had  had  in  mind  the  rabbinical  dictum 
that  'it  is  sinful  to  talk  to  a  woman,  for  women 
talk  only  idle  talk.'  Her  turning  the  conversation 
to  literature  made  him  forget  the  rabbis  and  their 
dicta. 

"I  will  confess  to  your  ladyship  that  I  like 
books  very  much.  I  have  never  been  in  a  great 
library,  but  it  must  be  wonderful,"  he  said. 

"There  is  something  more  wonderful  than  lit- 
erature," she  said  slowly,  and  as  he  looked  at  her 
questioningly  she  continued,  "that  which  is 
more  wonderful  than  literature  is  art,  the  art  of 
painting  as  seen  in  the  galleries  of  great  cities." 

"Does  your  ladyship  mean  that  the  wonder  is 
in  the  idea  represented  or  in  the  technical  exe- 
cution?" he  asked. 

She  saw  the  drift  of  his  question. 

97 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Both,"  she  said.  "But  then  what  art  could 
really  portray  an  idea?  What  painter  could 
show  us  the  workings  of  the  human  heart?" 

"Literature  does  it,"  said  Joseph  with  flaming 
cheeks.  "Mitchkievitch  did  it,  and  the  infinitely 
sweeter  Heine." 

"Do  you  like  Heine?"  she  asked. 

"Very  much." 

"Then  read  me  something;  you  will  find  his 
Book  of  Songs  on  the  table." 

Joseph  took  the  book.  As  he  opened  it  his 
eyes  betrayed  the  pure  gladness  of  his  heart,  and 
the  Baroness,  mentally  paraphrasing  Heine's 
words,  thought,  "I  wish  I  were  a  book  and  thou 
wouldst  thus  hold  me  and  thus  regard  me."  She 
did  not  know  that  he  loved  Heine  best  because 
the  poet  knew,  as  did  few  others,  how  to  portray 
the  passion  and  the  suffering  of  the  heart,  the 
quenched  aspirations  and  the  blighted  hopes  in 
love  and  life.  Heine,  too,  was  the  antithesis  to  his 
own  thoughts,  which  were  ever  high  and  holy,  but 
made  him  sombre  and  sad.  The  mental  excur- 
sions he  had  made  into  the  unexplored  regions 
depicted  by  the  poet,  his  satire  and  his  self-casti- 
gation,  acted  as  a  tonic  upon  Joseph's  mind.  The 
first  poem  that  met  his  eye  was  one  of  those 
he  had  so  often  read  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
he  himself  was  the  author  of  it. 

"Which  poem  shall  I  read?" 

"Any  you  like." 

"Well,  then,  this,"  he  said,  and  read  in  the 
original : 

98 


The  Temptation. 

"  'Die  holden  Wuensche  bluehen 
Und  welken  wieder  ab, 
Und  blueh'n  und  welken  wieder, 
So  geht  es  bis  ans  Grab/  " 

The  Baroness  was  struck  by  the  deep  emo- 
tion his  reading  betrayed,  and  her  heart  felt  a 
pang  as  she  thought  that  he  too  knew  "the  sweet 
wishes  that  bloom  and  wither  and  bloom  and 
wither  again,  and  so  on  till  the  grave." 

The  pathos  with  which  he  read  touched  her 
heart.  There  was  a  wonderful  charm  in  his 
voice;  its  depths,  as  he  subdued  it  to  give  more 
effective  expression  to  the  poet's  thoughts, 
seemed  to  her  like  the  rarest  music. 

She  knew  he  could  not  have  learned  to  read 
like  this  from  the  good  Father  Cohanoski.  This 
was  the  gift  of  nature  by  which  one  master  spirit 
presented  the  thoughts  and  words  of  another. 
Joseph  seemed  oblivious  to  his  surroundings,  and 
did  not  notice  that  she  had  moved  close  to  him. 
Still  more  closely  she  moved  up  to  him,  until  her 
palpitating  bosom  touched  his  arm  and  her 
sweet  breath  rose  to  his  face,  but  he  seemed  to 
be  unaware  of  it.    He  was  in  a  different  world. 

"Read  the  sonnets,"  she  said,  and  herself  turned 
the  pages. 

He  read  Heine's  beautiful  Sonnets  to  his 
Mother,  and  while  he  read  her  hand  stole  softly 
upon  his  arm  and  she  felt  an  unquenchable  de- 
sire to  tell  him  of  her  love.  Bending  over  she 
breathed, 

99 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Yushu,  I  love  you." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  In  a  moment  he  was 
aware  of  what  had  happened  and  of  what  it 
meant  to  them  both. 

"I  beg  your  ladyship  to  permit  me  to  go,"  he 
murmured. 

"I  beg  of  you  to  stay  and  hear  me,  Joseph.  It 
is  not  a  wild  and  sudden  passion.  I  love  you ;  I 
have  loved  you  for  months.  Do  not  think 
harshly  of  me  because  I  speak  to  you  thus.  I 
am  alone  in  the  world.  The  different  stations 
we  occupy  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  come 
near  you  and  win  your  love  by  degrees.  God 
meant  you  to  save  my  life  and  that  life  is  yours. 
Love  me  and  I  will  make  you  happy.  Your 
every  wish  shall  be  fulfilled.  Joseph,  dear,  speak 
to  me,"  she  pleaded. 

But  he  remained  silent. 

She  rose  and  took  his  hand. 

"Joseph,  are  you  made  of  stone?  Will  you 
have  less  pity  on  me  than  on  Rachel  ?  See,  I  am 
hungry  for  your  love ;  my  life  has  been  desolate 
until  now.  Can  you  be  so  cruel  and  pitiless  as  to 
thrust  me  back  into  the  abyss  of  coldness,  soli- 
tude, and  suffering?" 

Still  he  remained  silent,  although  it  was  evi- 
dent that  her  words  distressed  him. 

At  length  the  woman's  passion  overpowered 
her,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she 
cried, 

"Have  pity  on  me,  Joseph ;  do  not  destroy  the 


lOO 


The  Temptation. 

life  you  saved.  Speak  to  me;  only  a  word,  I 
implore  you." 

"My  dear  friend,"  he  said,  gently  disengaging 
himself,  "I  am  but  an  humble  man  and  unworthy 
the  great  grace  you  have  shown  me.  I  respect 
and  admire  you,  for  who  would  not  ?  but  I  cannot 
say  to  you  that  I  love  you.  I  pity  you  from  the 
depth  of  my  soul,  and  I  pray  God  to  send  you  a 
man  you  may  love  and  who  may  love  you  in 
honour.  Realize  that  I  am  a  Jew,  that  I  am  of 
very  humble  station ;  you  are  of  high  station,  and 
to  it  you  owe  a  duty  you  dare  not  shirk." 

"I  defy  the  world,"  she  cried ;  "the  world  has 
given  me  no  happiness.  You  are  nobler  than  T 
am,  nobler  than  all  who  pretend  to  be  so,  and  I 
love  you.  Come  to  me,  you  and  your  dear 
mother;  I  will  make  you  both  happy.  We  will 
go  away,  to  Paris,  to  Italy,  anywhere  you  like. 
Only  do  not  leave  me,  I  beseech  you,"  she 
pleaded. 

"Ah,  you  do  not  understand  and  I  cannot  ex- 
plain. All  I  can  say  is  that  God  calls  me  else- 
where. I  must  work,  work  for  something  which, 
although  definite  in  my  soul,  I  yet  can  find  no 
words  to  express.  I  wish  neither  gold  nor  high 
station ;  to  do  the  will  of  God  neither  is  needed. 
But  you,  who  have  an  abundance  of  earthly 
riches,  I  beg  you  to  look  about  you  and  see  the 
sorrow  and  the  suffering  that  is  everywhere,  and 
try  to  do  the  best  you  can.  Some  day  you  will 
be  glad  that  you  have  followed  the  desire  of  God 
and  not  that  of  your  heart." 

lOI 


Children  of  Fate. 

But  his  words,  spoken  with  infinite  tenderness, 
excited  her  more  keenly. 

"I  cannot  live  without  you.  Take  my  for- 
tune, take  all,  give  it  to  the  poor;  only  do  not 
leave  me." 

Hot  tears  fell  from  her  eyes,  and  the  soul  in 
him  suffered  at  her  distress.  She  sank  down  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Joseph  gazed  at  her,  at  first  with  a  feeling  of 
pity ;  he  was  still  the  Joseph  of  old,  a  meek,  ser- 
vile creature  whose  life,  being  pitiful,  could 
accord  compassion  to  all  who  were  tortured  by 
grief;  he  pitied  the  woman  who  sobbed  broken- 
hearted. 

Then  gradually  another  look  came  into  his 
eyes,  a  look  that  came  like  a  streak  of  flame  di- 
rect from  the  heart  and  burnt  the  scales  that 
hitherto  had  covered  his  sight.  The  woman  be- 
fore him  was  beautiful ;  the  lines  of  her  form  ex- 
quisite ;  she  seemed  like  a  phantom  that  floated 
in  the  air,  trailing  behind  a  fascination  that 
lured  earthborn  man  to  eager  pursuit.  From 
her  body  emanated  a  fragrance  that  enveloped 
and  dazed  him,  that  stirred  his  blood  and  made 
his  senses  run  riot.  He  stretched  forth  his 
hands — it  was  the  act  but  of  a  moment;  then 
his  hands  fell.  Again  he  was  Joseph,  the  self- 
abnegating  Jew.  "Mother,"  he  whispered;  and 
bending  toward  the  Baroness  he  said: 

"God  have  pity  on  you  and — on  me." 

He  turned  and  quickly  left  the  room. 

Hastening  from  the  castle  he  ran  all  the  way 

I02 


The  Temptation. 

to  Dobrzyn.  He  arrived  at  his  home  in  an  al- 
most exhausted  condition. 

"I  have  been  very  anxious  about  you,  my  son ; 
I  thought  I  saw  you  in  danger,  but  thank  God, 
you  are  here,"  said  his  mother. 

"Danger  is  always  near,"  said  Joseph,  "but  a 
mother's  prayer  is  the  guardian  on  our  way. 
God  bless  you,  mother,  and  keep  you  well.  In 
about  a  week  we  shall  be  in  the  great  city  of 
Warsaw,  and  with  God's  help,  you  will  be  well 
and  happy." 


103 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ON   THE  TRAIN. 

The  days  succeeding  his  conversation  with  the 
Baroness  were  days  of  great  unrest  for  Joseph. 
A  nameless  fear  caused  him  to  keep  away  from 
his  Christian  acquaintances.  In  his  distress  he 
went  to  his  former  teacher,  the  aged  Reb  Moise 
Libe,  to  whom  he  confided  the  story  of  the  events 
that  so  grievously  burdened  his  mind. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  evil  consequences  from 
your  association  with  the  revolutionists,"  said  the 
Rabbi.  "You  are  a  man,  and  you  must  live  up 
to  your  convictions.  The  cause  of  Poland  is  just, 
our  people  are  well  treated  by  the  Poles.  The 
Russians  have  treated  us  barbarously,  and  we 
do  not  know  what  greater  evil  is  in  store  for 
us.  But  the  other  matter  is  more  serious.  A 
woman's  passion  is  like  a  raging  lion.  The 
best  you  can  do  is  to  go  away.  Let  no  one 
know  where  you  are.  Do  not  write  to  me,  for 
I  may  be  asked.  I  want  to  say  truly  that  I  do 
not  know.  Do  not  wait  until  the  eight  days 
of  the  Passover  are  gone  by.  Leave  to-mor- 
row morning.  Nureck's  wagon  goes  to  Vlotz- 
lavek  at  four  o'clock.    Take  your  mother  and  go." 

The  old  man  gave  him  his  blessing  and 
Joseph  left  him.  He  went  straight  to  Nureck's 
house  and  arranged  to  be  taken  to  Vlotzlavek, 

"Going    to    celebrate    your    engagement    in 
Vlotzlavek?"  asked  the  wagoner. 
104 


On  the  Train. 

"Just  going  to  see  the  city,  and  then  away," 
said  Joseph. 

"Don't  tell  me  that.  When  a  young  man 
travels  in  Passover  week  he  goes  to  see  his  pro- 
spective wife.  It  was  so  in  olden  times  among 
Jews  and  so  it  will  be,"  said  Nureck. 

Joseph  paid  for  his  journey  in  advance,  and 
bidding  the  wagoner  good-day,  went  home. 

His  mother  naturally  acquiesced  in  whatever 
Joseph  said.  She  was  loth  to  leave  the  things  in 
the  house  in  view  of  the  fact  that  their  stay  in 
Warsaw  was  to  be  indefinite.  But  Joseph  told 
her  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  him  to 
be  unhindered  by  luggage,  as  they  could  buy 
all  they  needed  in  Warsaw. 

"But  how  shall  we  carry  the  money?"  asked 
Mrs.  Rosen. 

"Carry  it  on  your  person,  mother,"  said 
Joseph. 

"God  forbid,  it  would  make  me  too  nervous; 
but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  I'll  put  the  large 
bills  in  the  prayer  book,  and  as  soon  as  you  have 
bought  the  tickets  and  the  necessary  provisions 
for  the  journey  in  Vlotzlavek,  we  will  put  all  the 
money  in  the  prayer  book  and  this  we  will  put 
in  the  portmanteau." 

Joseph,  who  had  no  experience  in  such  mat- 
ters, did  as  his  mother  told  him,  and  when  he 
had  made  his  small  purchases,  he  put  the  money 
in  the  prayer  book,  and  this  he  replaced  into  the 
portmanteau,  which  he  carefully  locked.  He 
gave  his  mother  the  key.    In  the  train  to  War- 

105 


Children  of  Fate. 

saw,  as  they  travelled  fourth  class,  they  were 
forced  to  sit  on  the  floor  with  the  many  peas- 
ants who  went  the  same  way.  The  crowd  was 
constantly  changing  as  many  got  off  at  the  way- 
side stations,  many  others  getting  on  to  go  to 
the  great  horse  market  in  Lovitch. 

Joseph  and  his  mother  sat  in  a  corner.  He 
had  spread  his  long  overcoat,  on  which  his  mother 
lay  sleeping,  and  between  them  was  the  precious 
portmanteau.  At  one  of  the  stations  a  Jewish 
peddler  offered  mead  and  fruit  for  sale.  Joseph 
wanted  an  orange,  and  as  his  mother  was  awake 
he  told  her  that  he  would  like  to  buy  one.  She 
gave  him  the  key  to  the  portmanteau,  out  of  which 
he  took  the  money.  Both  enjoyed  the  fruit,  and 
when  they  arrived  at  the  station  at  Kalish, 
Joseph  went  out  to  "stretch  himself."  When  he 
returned  he  found  his  mother  in  hysterics,  utter- 
ing shriek  after  shriek.  The  portmanteau  was 
gone. 

The  crowd  of  peasants,  not  knowing  the  cause 
of  the  woman's  cries,  swore  at  her  for  disturb- 
ing their  peace.  Some  laughed  at  the  woman's 
anguish,  others  tried  to  console  her.  None 
seemed  to  know  what  to  think  of  the  matter,  and 
all  grabbed  their  belongings  and  held  them 
tightly  about  their  persons. 

During  the  trouble  a  guard  came  in,  and  push- 
ing away  the  peasants,  made  his  way  to  Mrs. 
Rosen. 

"Throw  her  out,  guard,  she  makes  us  crazy," 
one  cried. 

io6 


On  the  Train. 

"Put  her  in  the  baggage  wagon,"  cried  a  sec- 
ond. 

"No,  in  the  swine  car;  she  is  only  a  Jewess/' 
a  third  called  out. 

"Silence,  you  trash,"  cried  the  guard.  "What 
is  the  trouble,  Jewess?" 

"Someone  has  stolen  my  portmanteau," 
moaned  the  poor  woman. 

"Stolen  your  portmanteau !  Did  you  see  who 
did  it?"  he  asked. 

"My  mother  is  blind,"  said  Joseph. 

"Blind,  and  some  one  stole  her  portmanteau. 
Ah,  it  is  too  late  now ;  the  train  has  started,  but 
you  are  all  under  arrest,"  said  the  guard.  "Don't 
open  a  window.  The  whole  pack  of  you  goes  to 
Warsaw  to  be  searched." 

Joseph  smiled  perforce  at  this  summary  pro- 
ceeding. The  suggestion  that  the  guard  might 
look  about  or  permit  Joseph  to  do  so  for  the  miss- 
ing portmanteau  was  rejected  with  scorn. 

"And  supposing  we  find  it,  will  that  help  the 
matter?  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  the  outrage  was 
commited  in  my  car?  I  have  said  they  go  to 
Warsaw  and  to  Warsaw  they  go,"  said  the 
guard. 

There  was  howling  and  lamentation  amongst 
the  peasants,  for  they  were  not  only  forced  to 
miss  their  business  appointments,  but  they  knew 
to  what  trouble  they  would  be  put  in  the  city 
of  Warsaw  under  the  Russian  government.  But 
there  was  no  help;  the  guard  was  there  and  it 
looked  as  if  the  peasants  would  have  to  take 
107 


Children  of  Fate. 

the  enforced  journey.  However,  at  the  next 
station,  one  peasant,  more  courageous  than  the 
rest,  opened  the  window  and  appealed  to  the 
station  master.  At  the  latter's  order  the  peas- 
ants were  lined  up  and  their  portables  submitted 
to  Joseph  for  identification.  It  was  in  vain,  the 
portmanteau  was  not  found. 

"What  shall  we  do,  my  son,  what  shall  we 
do?"    Mrs.  Rosen  asked  in  despair. 

"What  can  we  do  ?  God  has  sent  us  this  mis- 
fortune to  try  our  souls.  Let  us  be  strong, 
mother,  and  trust  in  God." 

"But  where  shall  we  go,  where  shall  we  stay 
in  the  great  city?  Oh,  why  did  I  not  follow 
your  advice  and  keep  the  money  about  me  ?  I  am 
to  blame,  my  son,  I  am  to  blame,"  she  lamented. 

"God  forbid  that  I  blame  you.  I  know  it  was 
the  will  of  God.  At  present  there  is  no  need 
to  worry.  We  must  trust  in  God,  He  will  not 
let  us  die;  He  will  provide.  We  shall  go  to  a 
Jewish  hotel,  and  then  I  will  see.  Sit  down, 
mother,  and  rest.  We  have  paid  our  passage 
money,  and  I  have  the  bundle  of  provisions.  Sup- 
pose I  had  put  the  provisions  into  the  portman- 
teau? There  is  always  a  reason  to  be  thank- 
ful to  our  Father  in  heaven,"  he  said,  and  as- 
sisted his  mother  to  sit  down. 

But  she  sighed  deeply,  and  when  they  reached 
Warsaw  and  were  told  to  leave  the  car,  she 
could  not  keep  back  her  tears,  and  when  once  on 
the  platform,  sobbed  bitterly. 

io8 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FOUND. 

"Vladislav,"  said  a  tall,  white  haired  man, 
"give  me  the  hand  bag  and  run  over  to  that 
woman  and  the  young  man  yonder  and  see  what 
is  the  trouble." 

"The  woman  is  blind,  she  was  robbed  on  the 
train,  and  the  young  man  is  her  son,  my  lord," 
Vladislav  reported. 

"Fate,"  murmured  the  gentleman.  "Perhaps 
she  is  ill,  and  she  has  been  robbed !  Well,  Vlad- 
islav, let  us  see  what  we  can  do  for  robbed  hu- 
manity." 

"My  lord,  you  will  miss  the  train.'' 

"I  may  miss  the  train,  Vladislav,  but  I  shall 
miss  something  else  if  I  do  not  assist  robbed 
humanity.  We  have  started  out  to  mend  our 
ways,  Vladislav,  and  to  be  more  merciful  to  our 
kind.  Let  us  begin  by  doing  it  in  this  place  and 
now.  We  may  smooth  the  road  to  the  woman's 
grave,  for  she  is  old,  and  we  may  brighten  the 
life  of  her  son,  for  by  his  quiet  demeanor  in  mis- 
fortune he  is  evidently  wise  and  of  a  fine  tem- 
perament." 

While  he  said  this  the  speaker's  eyes  rested 
on  Joseph,  who  stood  by  his  mother's  side,  his 
face   full   of  a   calm   dignity.     He   approached 


109 


Children  of  Fate. 

the  couple  fully  determined  to  lend  them  his  aid 
no  matter  how  difficult  the  task. 

However,  at  the  very  moment  he  was  about 
to  speak  to  the  young  man,  a  police  officer 
stepped  up  and  demanded  who  Joseph  was  and 
if  he  had  a  passport.  At  this  both  Joseph  and 
his  mother  trembled;  for  they  had  not  foreseen 
such  an  emergency,  and  it  had  never  entered 
Joseph's  mind  to  ask  for  a  passport  on  leaving 
his  native  town. 

"Ah,  Vladislav,  we  shall  have  to  play  the  role 
of  autocrat  besides  that  of  providence,"  said  the 
gentleman,  and  resolutely  stepped  forward. 

"Officer,  these  two  people  are  in  my  charge, 
have  the  goodness  to  remove  your  hand  from 
that  man's  shoulder." 

"Who  are  you?"  the  policeman  asked. 

"One  you  ought  to  know,  Kureck,  for  I 
brought  you  round  when  you  were  flogged  three 
years  ago.'' 

The  officer  gave  a  sharp  look,  then  quickly  re- 
moved his  cap. 

"Oh,  pardon,  my  lord  doctor,  I  did  not  know," 
he  said  with  cringing  humility. 

"It  is  well,  Kureck ;  call  a  carriage,  and  do  you, 
Vladislav,  take  the  luggage  and  go  home  in  a 
cab." 

When  he  was  alone  with  them  he  asked 
Joseph  whence  he  came,  and  when  he  heard 
that  it  was  from  Dobrzyn,  he  gave  a  slight 
start. 

"And  your  name,  if  I  may  ask?  I  am  not  a 
IIO 


Found. 

policeman  you  know,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"My  name  is  Joseph — ^Joseph  Rosen." 

The  man  changed  colour. 

"And  your  father's  name — let  me  see — was  it 
not  Solomon?"  he  asked,  and  his  voice  trembled. 

"Yes,  it  was  Solomon,  but  he  is  dead,"  said 
Joseph,  and  looked  at  the  face  of  the  stranger. 
But  it  told  him  nothing;  he  did  not  know  him, 
and  had  never  seen  him  before. 

"And  this  is  your  mother?  How  came  she 
to  be  blind?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  always  thought  she  might 
be  cured  if  she  had  proper  treatment,  and  we 
came  to  this  city  for  that  purpose,"  said  Joseph. 

"I  thought  so ;  well,  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see. 
By  the  way,  did  not  your  mother  have  a  brother 
named  Daniel?" 

"Yes;  but  we  do  not  know  where  he  is," 
Joseph  replied. 

"Well,  well,  we'll  have  to  find  him.  Ah  there, 
Kureck,  that  is  nice  of  you,  here  is  something 
for  your  trouble,"  he  said.;  "And  now,  my 
friends,  let  us  go  and  look  for  some  lodgings." 

During  the  time  the  stranger  was  speaking 
Mrs.  Rosen's  head  was  bent  forward  in  an  at- 
titude of  close  attention.  Once  or  twice  she  put 
her  hand  to  her  heart,  while  her  fingers  moved 
nervously.  But  when  she  heard  the  stranger 
say,  "well,  we'll  have  to  find  him,"  her  hands 
sank  down,  and  as  she  was  led  to  the  carriage 
she  murmured  to  herself,  "If  it  be  God's  will." 


Ill 


Children  of  Fate. 

Joseph's  astonishment,  sufficiently  great  at 
what  had  already  happened,  increased  immeas- 
urably when  the  carriage  halted  in  front  of  a 
magnificent  palace  into  which  he  and  his  mother 
were  led  by  his  new  found  friend.  It  was  all 
miraculous  and  mysterious  to  him,  and  his  soul 
bent  in  obedience  before  his  God  who  thus  took 
care  of  him  and  his  poor  mother.  They  had 
been  conducted  into  a  room,  the  grandeur  of 
which  reminded  Joseph  of  the  salon  in  Castle 
Wysiniaski.  They  sat  side  by  side,  Joseph  hold- 
ing his  mother's  hand,  she  feeling  his  constantly 
to  assure  herself  that  it  was  not  all  a  dream. 

In  a  few  minutes  their  benefactor  entered. 

"My  friends,"  said  he,  "you  must  be  very  tired 
after  your  journey,  I  suggest!  therefore,  that 
you  let  my  servants  show  you  your  rooms,  for 
you  will  have  to  stay  here  until  we  can  find  your 
relative — Daniel  Horovitz — that  is  the  name,  is 
it  not?  Meanwhile  this  shall  be  your  home. 
Now,  young  man,  follow  Vladislav ;  he  is  an  ex- 
cellent fellow  and  will  attend  to  you ;  and  do  you 
madam,  follow  Marusha.  You  will  find  a 
change  of  clothing  in  your  room,  young  man, 
and  for  your  mother  we  will  find  something  to- 
morrow." 

At  a  motion  of  his  head  they  were  led  from 
the  room.  An  hour  later  they  came  down  to  join 
him  looking  like  different  beings.  Joseph  looked, 
indeed,  as  the  fancy  of  the  Baroness  pictured 
him,  a  young  god,  and  the  elder  man  gazed  at 


112 


Found. 

him  with  undisguised  admiration  as  he  shook  his 
hand. 

**I  knew  this  was  my  lucky  day.  I  have  made 
a  conquest  of  which  an  emperor  might  be  proud/' 
he  murmured  in  French.  How  could  he  know 
that  this  provincial  understood  what  he  said! 

"You  have  not  seen  your  brother  for  many 
years,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Rosen,  as  she  drank  her 
tea  with  evident  enjoyment. 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  him  in  many  years.  God 
knows  if  he  lives.  He  was  a  good  boy,  an  am- 
bitious boy,  but  I  suppose  he  has  had  to  strug- 
gle in  the  world.  Life  is  very  hard  when  one  is 
poor,"  she  said. 

"Very  true;  but  your  brother  is  not  poor, 
madam.  You  will  naturally  wonder  how  I 
know  so  much  about  you  and  your  brother,  but 
the  fact  is  that  I  was  in  Dobrzyn  many  years 
ago.  I  knew  your  husband,  and  have  known 
Daniel  Horovitz  all  my  life.  Seeing  you  now 
and  knowing  of  your  poor  condition,  I  am  very 
angry  with  him  for  neglecting  you  so  shame- 
fully." 

"Please  do  not ;  poor  boy,  he  may  have  had  his 
troubles  and  heartaches ;  who  knows,  who 
knows,"  she  said. 

"Heartaches!"  cried  the  man;  "madam,  you 
have  a  prescient  soul.  Daniel  Horovitz  had 
heartaches,  or  rather  one  great  overpowering 
heartache  that  nearly  killed  him,"  said  the  man, 
and  his  voice  trembled. 

"I  thought  so;  poor  Daniel.     He  was  always 

"-  113 


Children  of  Fate. 

so  proud  and  so  full  of  strange  plans  and  wishes," 
she  rejoined. 

*'Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  man.  "Yes,  Dan- 
iel Horovitz  had  the  very  strangest  wishes;  he 
wanted  to  become  a  great  surgeon,  a  great 
scholar,  a  wealthy  man.  He  wanted  life  and 
love;  but, 

"Die  holden  Wuensche  bluehen 

Und  welken  wieder  ab, 
Und  blueh'n  und  welken  wied^cr. 
So  geht  es  bis  ans  Grab." 

Young  man,  you  ought  to  study  German  and 
learn  these  lines  by  heart ;  they  are  the  best  anti- 
dote for  the  poison  called  'wishes';  if  they  do 
not  cure  entirely  they  are  at  least  serviceable  as 
a  tonic  to  the  heart. 

"They  are  by  Heine,"  said  Joseph,  who  had 
turned  pale.  He  felt  a  strange  gripping  at  the 
heart  as  the  elder  man  spoke. 

The  latter  noticed  only  the  fact  that  this  ap- 
parently bucolic  youth  knew  German  and  knew 
the  author  of  these  lines. 

"Precisely,  and  I  am  glad  to  learn  that  you 
have  read  the  finest  of  poets.  But  to  return 
to  Daniel  Horovitz,  I  must  tell  you,  madam,  that 
few  people  in  this  world  so  fully  realized  the 
words  of  the  poet  as  he;  for  the  only  wish  for 
whose  realization  he  would  have  given  his  life 
remained  unfulfilled.  All  his  other  wishes  came 
to  their  fullest  realization,  only  one  failed.  If 
anything,  therefore,  can  be  said  in  excuse  for  his 
114 


Found. 

shameful  neglect  of  you,  it  is  that  his  life  was 
terribly  unhappy ;  that  he  suffered  the  agonies  of 
the  damned ;  that  his  hair  turned  white  in  a 
night  of  supreme  torture,  and  that  he  thought 
only  of  his  grief." 

The  man's  words  came  almost  in  a  whisper. 

Both  Joseph  and  his  mother  were  profoundly 
moved. 

"Ah,  if  he  had  sent  me  word,"  sobbed  the  lat- 
ter, "I  might  have  tried  to  console  him,  my  poor 
brother,  my  dear  Daniel." 

"Ah,  madam,  man  is  selfish  in  his  grief  and 
often  takes  pleasure  in  nursing  it.  Daniel  is 
such  a  man.  At  first  he  worked  in  poverty,  his 
thought  centred  upon  one  aim — ^to  raise  himself 
from  the  low  station  of  his  kind.  After  he  had 
succeeded  and  fully  felt  his  power,  he  gloated  in 
this  strength  and  thought  only  of  himself.  Of 
a  sudden  he  was  taken  out  of  himself.  A  power 
greater  than  he,  greater  than  his  selfishness, 
greater  than  his  former  aspirations,  took  hold  of 
him :  he  fell  in  love.  He  loved  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  the  sweetest  woman  in  all  the  world. 
Your  brother  Daniel,  madam,  actually  loved  the 
Princess  Berg,  the  daughter  of  the  Governor 
General  of  Poland,  and,  madam,  she  returned  his 
love ;  but  a  Jew  could  not  marry  a  princess,  and 
he  was  stupid  enough  not  to  crawl  to  the  Cross. 
He  wanted  truth  in  his  love ;  he  did  not  want  to 
utter  a  lie;  for  God  created  love,  and  did  not 
baptize  it  in  the  name  of  any  religion,  and  there- 
fore man  has  no  right  to  baptize  it  in  falsehood. 

"5 


Children  of  Fate. 

He  remained  not  true  to  his  religion — for  he  had 
none  in  particular — ^but  steadfast  in  his  refusal 
to  become  a  so-called  Christian.  The  result  was 
disastrous  for  him.  The  Princess  was  taken  to 
Switzerland,  and  one  day  Daniel  received  a  des- 
patch bidding  him  to  go  thither.  He  went — and 
the  Princess  died  in  his  arms." 

The  man  was  silent ;  he  appeared  overcome  by 
the  recital  of  his  friend's  grief.  Joseph,  who 
had  listened  with  bated  breath,  hung  his  head. 
An  echo  of  something  rang  in  his  ears — some- 
thing that  he  faintly  felt,  but  could  not  clearly 
define^ — yet  it  was  strong  enough  to  stir  him  pro- 
foundly; sufficient  to  make  it  seem  like  a  per- 
sonal experience. 

Mrs.  Rosen  sobbed  and  silently  prayed  for  her 
poor  brother. 

At  length  the  man  spoke  again. 

"During  that  one  night  Daniel  experienced 
agonies  such  as  are  not  in  the  power  of  man 
to  describe,  and  the  following  morning  found 
him  a  white  haired  man.  You  may  perhaps  have 
read  a  poem  that  apF>eared  anonymously  in  the 
'Dzienik  Warszawski,'  for  it  created  a  sensation. 
Daniel  wrote  it  that  night.  I  know  it  by  heart. 
He  called  it  'The  Empty  Heart.'    Listen ! 

"Alive  ?    No,  no,  Vm  dead ; 
My  tortured  soul  is  fled ; 
My  body,  cold  and  sore. 
Her  hand  will  touch  no  more 
In  love  as  oft  before. 
ii6 


Found. 

What  vile  and  traitor  hand, 
By  jealousy  unmanned, 
Has  slain  my  gentle  queen 
That  e'er  adored  hath  been 
By  all  her  grace  had  seen? 

Or  was  it  by  the  nod 

Of  some  capricious  god 

My  gladness  to  disperse, 

A  demon  so  perverse 

Was  sent?    Then  him  I  curse! 

Is  simple,  earthborn  man 
More  kind  and  wiser  than 
Your  God  ?    For  man  appears 
To  shed  compassion's  tears 
And  cherish  what  he  rears. 

Is  madness  this,  or  spite, 
In  horror  to  delight? 
Oh,  ne'er  will  I  believe 
The  reaper  cuts  the  sheave 
The  tender  plants  to  grieve. 

The  reaper  cuts  to  feed 
A  lower  kind  of  breed, 
And  where  he  cuts  he  sows, 
He  harrows — but  he  knows 
The  soil  much  richer  grows. 

The  plants  thus  cut  away 
Give  seed  another  day, 
But  human  hearts  that  die 
With  agonizing  cry, 
Forever  buried  lie. 
117 


Children  of  Fate. 

What  happiness  if  one 
Could  die  when  love  is  done 
And  break  life's  iron  band; 
Or,  with  a  sweep  of  hand. 
An  end  of  pain  command. 

But  no,  our  memories  live 
And  thousand  tortures  give; 
Unquenched  remains  desire 
In  hearts  with  grief  on  fire 
Until  our  souls  expire. 

We're  proud  and  potent  kings 
When  love's  glad  summons  rings; 
The  golden  crowns  we  wear 
Bode  not  a  single  care 
Until  there  comes  despair. 

We  rule  with  gentle  hand 
That  dream  and  flower  land ; 
When  love's  sweet  rose  is  blown. 
We're  kings;  when  love  is  flown, 
We're  Kings  Without  a  Throne." 

Joseph  listened  with  bated  breath.  How 
keenly  he  appreciated  the  sufferings  of  that  man, 
who  appeared  so  intimate  with  the  other  that 
he  recited  the  story  of  his  grief  with  an  emo- 
tion as  intense  as  if  it  were  his  own. 

After  a  while  the  professor  continued:  "For 
years  afterward,  grief  stricken,  silent,  proud  and 
cynical,  Daniel  lived  by  himself — for  himself. 
Of  a  sudden,  remorse  and  longing  took  hold  of 
him ;  he  remembered  his  only  sister  and  desired 

Ii8 


Found. 

to  see  her,  and  with  this  feeling  came  a  Hght- 
ness  of  heart  and  buoyancy  of  spirit  that  made 
him  almost  happy.  He  desired  to  share  his 
wealth  with  his  only  Bilinka — Bilulena " 

Mrs.  Rosen  sprang  up. 

"Daniel,  Daniel,  it  is  Daniel;  I  recognize  the 
way  you  call  me,"  she  cried. 

"Yes,  Bilulena,  it  is  I,  and  I  believe  in  mira- 
cles.   God  be  praised." 

Brother  and  sister  were  clasped  in  each  other's 
arms,  and  Joseph  looked  at  them  with  profound 
emotion. 

"Oh,  Daniel;  and  this  is  my  son,  my  own 
blessed  son.  Love  him,  Daniel,  love  him,"  cried 
Mrs.  Rosen. 

"No  need  to  make  any  promises;  he  is  my 
own,"  he  said,  as  he  embraced  Joseph. 

"The  ways  of  the  Lord  are  wonderful,"  said 
Mrs.  Rosen;  "at  the  time  He  inspired  you  to 
find  your  sister,  He  also  put  it  into  the  heart 
of  my  brother-in-law  Max,  in  America,  to  re- 
member the  widow  of  his  poor  brother.  Max 
died  last  year,  but  his  son  sent  us  money,  and 
with  this  we  were  able  to  come  to  Warsaw,  as 
it  was  Joseph's  purpose  to  take  me  to  an  ocu- 
list. Well,  God  be  praised,  for  His  mercy  en- 
dureth  forever." 

END   OF   THE   FIRST   BOOK. 


119 


''The  nightingale  that  sings  with  the  deep  thorn. 
Which  Fable  places  in  her  breast  of  wail. 
Is  lighter  far  of  heart  and  voice  than  those 
Whose  headlong  passions  form  their  proper  woes.^^ 

(Byron.) 


BOOK  SECOND, 
CHAPTER  I. 

THE  AMERICAN   MILLIONAIRE  SOCIALIST. 

"What !  you  are  the  son  of  Max  Rosen  ?  Lord, 
Lord!  and  this  is  your  daughter?  Wife,  wife! 
Come  in  for  a  minute,"  cried  Mr.  Alphonse  Ep- 
stein, the  banker. 

A  tall,  white  haired  and  imposing  looking 
woman  came  in  and  bowed  to  the  strangers. 

"Wife,  you  cannot  guess  who  this  gentleman 
is,  you  cannot  guess.  He  is  the  son  of  Max  Rosen 
who  married  Eva  Kohn,  your  cousin,  and  after 
her  death  went  to  America,"  he  cried. 

Mrs.  Epstein  appeared  surprised,  and  shook 
hands  with  the  stranger. 

"Why,  it  must  be  nearly  thirty  years  since 
Max  went  away;  you  were  quite  a  boy  then," 
she  said,  "And  is  this  your  daughter?" 

"My  only  child,"  the  man  replied. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  my  dear,"  said  the 
elderly  woman,  and  kissed  the  girl.  Then  she 
looked  at  her  critically  and  closely. 

"Upon  my  word,  she  is  beautiful ;  and  what  is 
your  name?"  she  asked. 
123 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Beatrice,"  the  girl  replied. 

"A  beautiful  name  and  exceedingly  appropri- 
ate. Your  American  women  must  be  of  a  differ- 
ent type.  Where  will  you  find  a  Jewish  girl  here 
that  is  blonde  and  of  such  exquisite  features?" 
said  the  old  lady. 

The  father's  pride  was  flattered  by  this  free 
acknowledgment  of  his  daughter's  graces,  and 
he  expressed  his  thanks.  But  the  girl  felt  em- 
barrassed and  half  regretted  that  her  father  had 
taken  her  to  see  these  people.  Mrs.  Epstein  un- 
intentionally added  to  her  discomfort  by  ask- 
ing, 

"And  where  is  her  mother?" 

"Her  mother  has  passed  away,"  Mr.  Rosen  re- 
plied. :    ' 

"An  orphan!  God  pity  us,  my  dear  lamb,  we 
shall  have  to  love  you  so  much  more,"  said  Mrs. 
Epstein,  putting  her  arms  around  the  girl. 

This  act  of  genuine  sympathy  touched  Beatrice, 
and  without  knowing  why  she  began  to  sob. 

"Well,  well,  little  lamb,  don't  cry.  Take  off 
your  things,  and  make  yourself  at  home." 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Epstein  sent  forth  a  fusillade 
of  questions,  which  the  American  strove  hard 
to  answer.  The  appearance  of  this  distant  con- 
nection impressed  Epstein  favorably.  Still,  he 
might  be  inclined  to  presume  on  the  relation- 
ship and  desire  to  draw  on  the  bank  for  funds ; 
one  can  never  tell  and  it  was  best  to  know  how 
to  arrange  matters  in  the  future. 


124 


The  American  Millionaire  Socialist. 

"You  have  come  to  Warsaw  at  a  bad  time," 
said  the  banker.  "Affairs  here  are  uncertain,  the 
people  are  restless,  and  to  succeed  in  anything  a 
good  deal  of  capital  is  required.  Unless  one  trav- 
els for  pleasure,  as  I  hope  you  do,  then  Warsaw 
is  not  a  bad  place  to  visit." 

"I  came  here  on  business  and  may  stay  here 
indefinitely,"  said  the  American. 

"In  Warsaw?" 

"No,  in  the  province." 

The  American  fell  a  little  in  the  banker^s  es- 
timation. A  man  who  lives  in  the  province  is 
a  small  man  and  Banker  Epstein  did  not  deal 
with  small  men.  And  yet  the  American  had  said 
that  he  came  on  business.  To  come  from  Amer- 
ica to  Poland  on  business  must  mean  something. 

"The  province,  notably  the  Polish  province,  is 
a  bad  place  to  live  in,  unless  one  has  a  great 
fortune,  can  live  in  a  castle  and  do  business  in 
one  of  the  great  cities ;  of  course,  there  is  but 
one  city  in  Poland — ,"  said  Epstein. 

"I  am  sure  of  it;  but  I  have  at  present  no 
thought  of  engaging  in  business  of  any  sort 
unless  the  reform  movement  I  have  in  mind  can 
be  called  business,"  the  American  rejoined. 

"Reform  movement,"  cried  the  banker,  "you 
are  not,  I  hope  a  wandering  preacher  of  revo- 
lutionary ideas  like  the  crazy  men  that  are  at 
present  working  in  Russia?  If  you  are  you  will 
lose  your  time  and  get  yourself  into  trouble ;  the 
time  is  not  ripe  for  that  sort  of  thing." 


125 


Children  of  Fate. 

"I  am  nothing  of  that  sort,"  Rosen  said,  smil- 
ing. "I  am  here  on  a  mission  to  find  some  poor 
relations  and  to  create  as  much  happiness  in  the 
little  town  of  Dobrzyn,  where  my  father  was 
born,  as  is  possible  with  a  fortune  far  in  excess 
of  my  needs." 

"But  it  requires  an  immense  fortune  to  in- 
dulge in  that  sort  of  amusement,"  cried  the 
banker.  "I  should  be  sorry  if  at  the  age  of 
forty — you  cannot  be  a  day  more — you  were  to 
commit  a  folly  that  you  would  regret  at  the 
age  of  sixty." 

Rosen  smiled. 

"If  I  lived  ever  so  extravagantly  I  could  not 
spend  what  my  income  is  for  one  year.  Why 
then  should  I  seek  to  gather  more  millions?" 

"Millions!"  cried  the  banker,  "Millions  of 
what?" 

"Dollars,"  said  the  other,  amused  at  the  bank- 
er's amazement. 

"Have  you  a  gold  mine?" 

"No;  but  railroad  securities  amounting  to 
something  like  nine  million  dollars,  besides  some 
minor  interests  that  may  bring  the  total  up  to 
about  fifteen  million  dollars." 

"And  how  did  you  get  all  this  money?"  asked 
the  banker  aghast. 

"The  bulk  of  the  fortune  was  made  by  my 
father  from  inventions  and  railroad  interests. 
Our  fortune  grew  almost  despite  ourselves.  It 
was  only  at  my  father's  death-bed  that  T  learned 
how  great  a  sin  a  man  commits  who  gives  his 
126 


The  American  Millionaire  Socialist. 

soul  to  the  making  of  money  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  else.  In  the  race  for  fortune  my  father  forgot 
his  nearest  of  kin  who  lived  in  poverty.  I  have 
come  to  repair  the  wrong.'* 

The  banker  began  to  feel  rather  small  by  the 
side  of  this  giant;  but  the  criminal  inutility  to 
which  the  American  was  putting  his  vast  wealth 
irritated  him. 

"Charity  is  well  enough,  but  business  is  busi- 
ness, and  business,  sir,  is  as  much  of  a  duty  as 
charity.  Business  means  civilization,  enlighten- 
ment, it  means  peace  or  war.  If  all  rich  men 
were  to  think  as  you  do,  there  would  be  an  end 
to  all  commerce  and  the  beggar  would  ride  the 
high  horse.  And,  my  friend,  what  would  be- 
come of  our  nobility?  We  live  by  our  nobility. 
They  need  money,  they  spend  money,  and  they 
come  to  us  for  it.    This  is  business,  this  is  life.'* 

'T  do  not  know  anything  about  the  present 
condition  of  your  nobility,  but  I  do  know  that 
when  a  man  has  reached  a  certain  degree  of 
wealth  and  is  assured  that  he  can  spend  only  a 
certain  sum  annually  to  satisfy  all  his  wants,  it  is 
criminal  for  him  to  draw  more  money  from 
others  and  add  it  to  his  already  large  store.  Nor 
can  I  see  how  commerce  could  possibly  suffer  if 
instead  of  charging  a  man  ten  cents  for  a  loaf  of 
bread  I  charged  him  two  cents,  when  the  loaf 
of  bread  costs  me  only  a  cent  and  a  half.  Large 
profits  always  mean  the  hurt  of  some  one  and 
the  benefit  of  none.  Debit  and  credit,  income  and 
expense,  labor  and  capital,  all  must  be  propor- 
127 


Children  of  Fate. 

tionate  and  relative,  otherwise  there  will  be  ar- 
rogance on  one  side  and  dissatisfaction  on  the 
other,"  said  the  American.  "And  lastly,  sir, 
the  accumulation  of  vast  capital  is,  I  think,  a 
mania,  a  disease,"  he  added. 

"But  you  forget  that  rich  men  invest  and  re- 
invest their  money,  and  that  means  wages  and 
expenditure.  Often,  too,  a  man  is  forced  to  pro- 
vide for  the  family  of  a  servant  that  is  good  for 
nothing,"  the  banker  rejoined. 

"You  naturally  would  have  to  provide  for  him, 
since  your  negligence  of  his  character  caused 
his  condition,"  said  the  American. 

"That  means  that  we  are  responsible  for  any 
man  we  employ,  any  servant  we  get  to  do  our 
work,"  cried  the  banker. 

"So  you  are.  When  you  are  loading  a  wagon 
or  a  boat  you  first  consider  its  capacity,  and 
when  you  are  ready  to  start  you  do  not  deliber- 
ately run  into  ruts  in  the  road  or  shoals  in  the 
river ;  and  a  man  ought  to  be  considered  as  good 
as  a  wagon  or  a  boat.  Then,  also,  it  is  wrong  to 
do  a  half  charity  to  a  workingman  when  he  is 
entitled  to  a  full  right.  You  speak  about  the 
rich  man  investing  his  money.  Pay  a  man  five 
roubles  for  the  work  for  which  you  paid  him  two 
and  he  will  become  an  investor  in  his  turn.  He, 
too,  will  build  himself  a  house  and  employ  peo- 
ple and  he  will  have  to  pay  a  proportionate  wage 
to  those  he  employs.  Thus  you  would  run 
down  the  scale  and  raise  mankind  all  around," 
said  Rosen. 

126 


The  American  Millionaire  Socialist. 

"That  would  give  the  low  brutes  a  chance  to 
play  the  great  lords,  or  to  get  drunk  and  raise 
a  row,"  the  banker  rejoined  with  disdain. 

"I  do  not  believe  either  would  occur.  Labor 
would  not  'play  the  lord'  because  men  in  gen- 
eral have  a  natural  respect  for  position,  notably 
for  financial  position  of  another.  Secondly,  the 
men  that  get  drunk  and  raise  a  row  are  not  men 
that  receive  the  highest,  but  the  lowest  wage. 
The  devil-may-care  feeling  does  not  rule  the 
man  whose  position  brings  him  a  handsome 
wage  each  week,  who  has  a  family  to  support 
and  a  position  to  maintain  in  the  circle  where 
he  moves ;  the  feeling  of  total  carelessness  only 
rules  the  man  who  feels  that  he  has  not  much  to 
lose." 

"Your  argument  is  based  on  the  theory  that 
all  men  are  rich  and  able  to  pay  a  high  wage," 
the  banker  said  with  a  sneer. 

"Not  at  all ;  but  there  are  a  great  many  rich 
men  that  could  make  very  many  poor  men  hap- 
pier and  better.  I  am  making  an  earnest  ef- 
fort in  this  direction.  I  believe  that  a  great  in- 
dividual fortune  should  be  active  for  the  bene- 
fit of  humanity,  directly  or  indirectly.  Directly, 
by  raising  the  standard  of  manhood  of  all 
around  you.  Employ  men  and  let  them  earn 
their  bread  and  butter — I  insist  on  the  butter — 
and  indirectlv,  throueh  investment  or  ordinary 
commerce.  But  deal  honestly,  pay  the  best 
wages  you  can  with  your  means,  and  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  there  are  no  tears 
129 


Children  of  Fate. 

flowing  while  you  enjoy  your  rest,  no  curses 
hurled  at  you  while  you  amuse  yourself  with 
your  friends  at  the  club  or  with  your  dear  ones 
at  home,"  said  Rosen. 

"This  is  rank  socialism,"  cried  the  banker. 

"If  the  earnest  effort  to  do  good  to  our  fel- 
low men  when  one  has  the  means  can  be  called 
socialism,  then  I  am  a  socialist,"  the  American 
rejoined. 

"Well,  a  rich  man  can  do  anything,  and  here 
in  Poland  one  can  do  a  great  deal  more  with 
money  than  elsewhere.  But  just  now  I  crave  for 
something  more  than  argument.  Wife,  dear," 
cried  Mr.  Epstein,  "please,  let  us  have  tea;  you 
see,"  he  said  to  Rosen,  "we  live  in  English  style 
and  have  tea  instead  of  coffee.  How  old  is  your 
daughter  ?" 

"Eighteen." 

"A  delightful  age;  well,  maybe  you  can  find 
something  good  here  for  her;  our  young  men, 
particularly  of  the  nobility,  are  not  so  bad.  Of 
course,  it  costs  a  good  bit  of  money,  but  then 
the  connections!  When  one  has  reached  a  cer- 
tain position  in  the  financial  world  one  does  not 
care  to  associate  with  the  low  class  of  Jews  nor 
with  any  Jews." 

"It  is  strange,  how  our  ideas  differ,"  said 
Rosen.  "My  inclination  is  the  other  way.  I  want 
to  do  all  the  good  I  can  to  all  alike,  but  if  possi- 
ble, a  little  more  to  my  own  people,  because  they 
have  had  so  little  happiness  among  the  nations 
of  Europe." 

130 


The  American  Millionaire  Socialist. 

"You  have  queer  ideas,"  said  the  banker,  "but 
I  will  confess  that  I  like  you  immensely.  Now 
come,  let  us  all  go  out  for  a  drive  in  the  Lazienki 
Park.  Our  daughter  will  follow  us  on  horse- 
back, when  she  returns.  Well,  sweet  Miss  New 
York,  how  do  you  like  it  here  ?"  said  the  banker, 
standing  in  front  of  Beatrice. 

"I  like  it  very  much  indeed,  and  I  love  Aunt 
Epstein,"  she  replied,  putting  her  arm  in  the  old 
lady's. 

"Well,  now,  that  is  charming.  Now,  Howard 
— I  think  I'd  better  call  you  by  your  first  name. 
I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  father,  eh?" 

"By  all  means,"  said  Rosen,  "  you  honour  me." 

"Then  take  Mrs.  Epstein,  and  I'll  take  Miss 
New  York,"  he  said,  offering  his  arm  to  Beatrice. 

When  they  drove  toward  the  botanical  gardens, 
a  carriage  passed  them.  Mr.  Epstein  nearly 
doubled,  so  low  and  profound  was  his  salute,  and 
Beatrice  looked  after  the  carriage  with  eyes  that 
bespoke  a  deep  emotion. 

"The  young  man  to  the  right  of  us  is  Count 
Waldeck,  Casimir  de  Lack,"  the  banker  said, 
and  his  mouth  watered  as  he  recited  the  full 
name,  "the  white  haired  gentleman  by  his  side 
is  Professor  de  Horovitz,  physician  and  surgeon 
to  Prince  Berg  and  elevated  to  the  nobility  by 
his  majesty  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  and  facing 
them  was  the  professor's  nephew.  They  visit 
us  occasionally ;  both  are  very  wealthy." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Epstein  tried  to  entertain  their 
guests  and  to  explain  the  sights  to  them,  but 

131 


Children  of  Fate. 

while  Beatrice  appeared  to  be  attentive,  her  mind 
was  in  reality  wandering,  following  a  dream,  an 
image,  that  had  flashed  across  her  horizon. 

"When  I  come  to  think  of  it,''  said  Mr.  Ep- 
stein, "I  shall  see  Count  Lack  to-morrow  and 
will  secure  for  you  a  letter  of  introduction  to  his 
people,  if — if  you  are  bent  on  going  to 
Dobrzyn." 

"I  should  deem  it  a  favour,  but  I  could 
scarcely  accept  a  letter  when  I  have  not  met  the 
young  man,"  said  Rosen. 

"That  can  be  done  to-morrow  at  my  office.  By 
the  way,  do  you  carry  a  letter  of  credit?"  asked 
the  banker. 

"Well,  not  exactly,  but  I  have  an  open  account 
with  the  Rothschild  banking  house,"  the  Ameri- 
can replied. 

"Well,  then  you  don't  need  me,"  said  the 
banker  rather  regretfully. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  shall  need  you  very  much 
and  shall  transfer  my  account  as  soon  as  I  am 
settled,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

The  introduction  to  Count  Waldeck  took  place 
at  the  office  as  the  banker  had  promised,  and 
after  a  spirited  conversation  the  three  went  to 
the  Cafe  de  Paris  for  luncheon. 

"You  so  remind  me  of  my  friend  Horovitz,  the 
Professor's  nephew,  that  at  times  I  thought  he 
was  speaking.  Your  ideas  are  very  much  alike ; 
he,  too,  uses  the  great  means  at  his  command  to 
benefit  the  unfortunate,  but  he  is  almost  a  slave 
to  his  work.  Night  and  day  he  goes  amongst  the 
132 


The  American  Millionaire  Socialist. 

poor  and  sick  and  lends  them  his  aid,"  said  the 
Count.     "I  wish  you  two  could  meet." 

"Some  day  I  may  meet  him,  for  he  is  the  very 
person  I  want  to  help  me  in  my  own  work  of  re- 
form, and  I  will  gladly  place  a  certain  sum  of 
money  at  his  disposal.  But  at  present  I  have  a 
duty  to  perform  which  is  more  pressing.  I  hope 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  lordship 
again  soon,  if  not  here,  then  in  the  province," 
said  Rosen. 

"I  shall  not  be  at  home  for  another  month,  and 
perhaps  not  before  Christmas;  but  I  will  send 
word  to  my  parents  and  they  will  probably  call 
on  you." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted.  Two  days  later 
Rosen  and  his  daughter  were  on  their  way  to 
Dobrzyn. 


133 


CHAPTER  II. 

COUNT   AND    COUNTESS    DE    LACK. 

His  visit  to  Warsaw  had  given  the  American 
a  fair  idea  of  the  conditions  of  life  in  Poland, 
and  during  the  few  days  he  was  there  he  saw 
enough  to  convince  him  that  the  level  of  civiliza- 
tion among  the  better  classes  was  high.  The 
poverty  among  the  lower  classes  of  the  city  was 
appalling,  but  he  saw  also  that  all  the  wealth  of 
the  Rothschilds  could  not  have  improved  their 
condition.  Misery  was  too  deeprooted  amongst 
the  people.    He  was  glad  to  get  away. 

The  beauty  of  the  town  of  Vlotzlavek  height- 
ened his  good  impression  of  Poland.  The  public 
buildings,  the  squares  and  gardens,  all  had  a 
pleasing  appearance. 

"I  am  agreeably  surprised  with  the  conditions 
hereabouts.  I  wonder  how  we  shall  find  Dob- 
rzyn  ?"  he  said  to  Beatrice. 

"Do  you  really  intend  to  live  in  that  little 
town?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly  not,  if  you  do  not  like  it,  dear ;  but 
you  know  I  have  some  affairs  to  settle.  It  cannot 
be  worse  than  some  of  the  French  villages  or 
other  small  places  in  Europe,"  he  said. 

"That  is  quite  true,  and  then  it  was  grand- 
papa's wish,  and  oh,  I  am  so  eager  to  see  our  rel- 
atives.    Judging  by  Mr.  Sager's  description  of 

134 


Count  and  Countess  de  Lack. 

cousin  Joseph,  he  must  be  a  wonderful  young 
man,"  she  said,  gazing  into  the  distance. 

"I  am  only  sorry  I  could  not  get  here  sooner. 
I  cannot  imagine  why  he  failed  to  answer  my 
letter  and  acknowledge  my  cheque." 

"Perhaps  he  cannot  write  English,"  said  the 
girl,  trying  to  find  an  excuse. 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  not  the  reason,"  he  re- 
joined, and  his  brow  clouded. 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
hotel  clerk,  who  announced  that  the  carriage 
stood  ready  to  take  them  to  Dobrzyn,  and  that 
all  the  trunks  and  boxes  were  on  the  wagons. 

"We  had  to  get  two  wagons  with  four  horses 
to  each  wagon,  as  the  road  to  Dobrzyn  is  uphill 
all  the  way." 

Howard  Rosen  paid  his  bill  and  was  exceed- 
ingly liberal  to  the  personnel  of  the  hotel,  for  he 
had  been  charmed  with  their  treatment  of  him 
and  his  daughter. 

After  a  long  drive  through  some  of  the  finest 
scenery  in  Poland,  they  arrived  in  Dobrzyn  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  the  first  shock  the  Ameri- 
can received  was  through  being  told  that  there 
was  not  an  hotel  in  the  town,  and  that  there  was 
absolutely  no  place  where  they  could  stay  over- 
night. 

The  teams  had  halted  on  the  square,  and  a  few 
moments  later  the  greater  portion  of  the  popula- 
tion was  congregated  about  the  newcomers. 
Through  the  help  of  a  Polish  companion,  whom 
Rosen  had  engaged  for  Beatrice  and  had  brought 

135 


Children  of  Fate. 

with  them,  they  found  out  that  one  Martsup  sold 
wine  to  the  nobles  and  sometimes  gave  them 
lodging  in  his  great  three-storied  house. 

On  hearing  that  they  were  friends  of  the 
Count  of  Vielga,  Martsup  was  only  too  glad  to 
accommodate  ttiem.  Their  baggage  was  taken  to 
the  stores  below  and  they  were  shown  into  suit- 
able rooms. 

As  soon  as  Beatrice  was  comfortably  settled, 
her  father  went  out  to  seek  his  relations.  But 
the  door  of  the  little  cottage  in  Back  Street  was 
shut  and  there  was  no  answer  to  his  knocks. 

"Whom  do  you  seek?"  asked  the  boy  who  had 
shown  him  Mrs.  Rosen's  house. 

''The  widow  Rosen  and  her  son  Joseph,"  he 
replied. 

"Oh,  they  have  disappeared,  and  the  people 
say  that  the  Shidim  (evil  spirits)  have  carried 
them  away,"  said  the  boy. 

Rosen  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 

"Gone?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  clean  gone  and  no  one  knows  where ;  it 
is  a  great  mystery ;  they  say  that  Reb  Moise  Libe 
knows  but  will  not  tell." 

"Show  me  the  way  to  Reb  Moise  Libe,"  said 
Rosen. 

He  received  but  little  comfort  from  the  old 
scholar. 

"I  would  not  have  mentioned  his  name  as  I 
did  not  want  to  draw  attention  to  him,  but  you 
are,  of  course,  different.  You  desire  to  fulfill  a 
sacred  duty,  and  I  know  no  one  more  worthy  of 

136 


Count  and  Countess  de  Lack. 

your  help.  But  I  cannot  tell  you  where  he  is, 
except  that  he  is  in  Warsaw." 

"Thank  you,  Rabbi,"  said  Rosen.  "It  is 
enough  to  know  that  he  is  in  Warsaw;  I  shall 
find  him  if  I  am  obliged  to  hire  every  detective 
in  Russia." 

"No,  no,  my  friend,  you  must  not  do  that;  it 
might  cause  them  great  trouble.  You  must  not 
employ  a  Christian  at  all.  There  are  plenty  of 
Jews  in  Warsaw,  I  dare  say,  who  know  every 
house  and  every  person  in  the  city;  get  one  of 
these  and  you  will  succeed  with  less  danger  to 
the  welfare  of  your  kindred,"  said  the  Rabbi. 

Rosen  saw  the  wisdom  of  the  advice,  but  it  ap- 
peared to  him  that  if  he  were  to  follow  it,  he 
might  as  well  first  learn  a  little  more  about  his 
cousin.  But  the  other  would  not  yield  the  least 
point  that  might  give  him  a  clue  to  the  secret 
Joseph  had  entrusted  to  him. 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  he  was  my  pupil  ever 
since  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  I  can  say  also  that 
there  is  not  a  soul  on  earth  more  pure  than  his. 
If  I  had  a  son  I  would  not  wish  him  a  better 
man  than  Joseph." 

This  speech  gave  a  keener  edge  to  Rosen's  de- 
sire to  see  his  relative,  and  as  he  was  going  to- 
ward the  square  he  vowed  to  spare  neither 
trouble  nor  expense  to  find  his  people.  He  be- 
lieved this  to  be  so  easy  a  task  that  he  was  almost 
joyous  as  he  told  Beatrice  that  Joseph  and  his 
mother  were  in  Warsaw,  and  that  they  would 
soon  be  in  Dobrzyn. 

137 


Children  of  Fate. 

"But  why  don't  we  go  to  Warsaw  and  join 
them  there?"  said  the  girl. 

"I  must  stay  here  a  while,"  her  father  repHed. 
"I  hope  you  will  not  feel  bored  in  this  place,  my 
pet.  Remember,  my  own  dear  daughter,  that  1 
have  a  serious  motive  in  staying  here,  one  as 
weighty,  if  not  weightier,  than  the  one  of  finding 
our  relatives." 

"Papa  Howard  Rosen,  how  could  you  think 
I  would  ever  question  your  motives?  Whatever 
you  do  is  right,"  she  said,  resting  her  head  on 
his  breast. 

"And  yet,  dearest,  I  like  you  to  know  what 
I  am  doing.  But  this  case  is  not  ripe  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  bother  your  head  with  it  yet.  We 
shall  make  this  our  home  for  the  present,  and  as 
soon  as  I  have  seen  the  Count  of  Vielga  I  shall 
go  to  work  to  build  a  house  of  some  sort." 

Fortune  had  so  arranged  that  the  following 
day  was  the  annual  Fair  in  Dobrzyn,  and  the 
peasants  from  the  neighboring  towns  and  vil- 
lages came  to  buy  or  sell  or  to  amuse  themselves. 
The  Square  was  filled  with  traders'  booths,  little 
restaurants  and  all  sorts  of  devices  for  amuse- 
ment. To  this  Kirmess  (as  the  fair  was  called) 
came  also  many  of  the  nobles,  who  sold  horses 
and  wheat  to  the  big  dealers  and  incidentally  in- 
dulged in  politics  over  a  bottle  of  wine  at 
Martsup's.  Among  the  nobles  who  attended  the 
Kirmess  that  day  were  the  Count  and  Countess 
of  Vielga,  who  drove  up  to  Martsup's  house. 

138 


Count  and  Countess  de  Lack. 

Martsup  rushed  into  Rosen's  room  and  told 
him  the  news. 

"Shall  I  tell  him  that  you  are  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"By  no  means,"  said  Rosen ;  "the  Count  does 
not  know  me  and  the  chances  are  that  he  has 
never  heard  my  name,  but  I  have  a  letter  to  him.'* 

Martsup  went  away  not  at  all  pleased.  A  let- 
ter to  the  Count !  Any  beggar  could  get  a  letter 
to  the  Count  or  to  the  Emperor.  What  was  that  ? 
However,  as  he  left  the  room,  Mrs.  Martsup 
rushed  up  to  him. 

"Henry,  is  Rosen  the  man's  name?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Well,  it  is;  what  of  it?  He  has  a  letter, 
any " 

"Hush,  the  Count  has  asked  for  him,  wants  to 
see  him,  and  would  like  to  know  when  he  can 
have  the  honour?" 

"What — what!"  cried  Martsup,  open-mouthed. 

"Yes ;  let  me  go  in." 

"No,  I'll  go  in." 

He  turned  and  actually  removed  his  cap. 

"The  honorable  Count  of  Vielga  wishes  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Rosen,"  he  said. 

"I  shall  see  the  Count  in  a  few  minutes.  Pray 
conduct  him  to  the  salon." 

"The  Count  is  in  the  salon,"  said  Martsup. 

"Which  salon?"  asked  Rosen. 

"Why,  mine,  of  course,  where  the  Count  al- 
ways stays  when  he  is  here,  and  to-day  he  is  here 
with  the  Countess,"  the  host  replied  proudly. 


139 


Children  of  Fate. 

"That  will  not  do,"  said  Rosen.  "You  will 
please  conduct  the  Count  and  Countess  to  our 
salon.  Or,  better  still.  Martha,"  he  said  to  his 
daughter's  maid,  "go  with  this  gentleman  and 
ask  the  Count  and  Countess  de  Lack  into  our 
room.  My  daughter  and  I  will  be  with  them  in 
a  few  moments." 

The  young  woman  did  not  wait  for  Martsup 
to  lead  her.  She  brushed  by  him  and  a  few  mo- 
ments later  the  distinguished  visitors  were  in  the 
salon. 

The  evident  surprise  in  the  eyes  of  both  par- 
ties as  they  met  was  too  strong  to  be  concealed, 
although  they  were  people  of  the  world  and 
knew  how  to  control  their  emotions. 

"Our  dear  son  has  apprised  us  of  your  com- 
ing and  we  have  hastened  to  bid  you  welcome," 
said  the  Countess.  "But  our  son  has  not  told  us 
of  the  young  lady,  your  daughter.  He  will  be 
surprised  when  he  learns  what  he  has  missed  in 
Warsaw." 

An  hour  was  passed  delightfully.  The  Count 
showed  himself  well  informed  on  American  af- 
fairs and  Rosen's  suggestions  about  social  re- 
forms were  listened  to  with  great  attention  by 
both  the  Count  and  his  wife. 

"Of  course  one  must  know  one's  ground  and 
the  subject  matter  thoroughly,"  said  Rosen. 
"Perhaps  reforms  such  as  T  have  in  mind  might 
work  better  in  England  or  America,  where  the 
conditions  are  different.  But  it  seems  to  me  that 
one  can   encourage  workingmen   without  insti- 

140 


Count  and  Countess  de  Lack. 

gating  a  social  revolution.  I  want  to  see  people 
at  work ;  idleness  is  a  crime.  I  also  want  to  pay 
the  workingman  a  fair  wage  for  his  labour;  to 
underpay  a  workman  is  the  greatest  stupidity  an 
employer  can  commit,  for  no  underpaid  work- 
man is  ever  proud  of  or  faithful  to  his  employer, 
and  where  this  is  lacking  there  can  be  no  good 
work.  I  see  that  this  town  has  no  hotel ;  I  con- 
clude that  it  has  no  bank.  I  know  that  I  was 
worn  out  with  fatigue  of  the  journey  from 
Vlotzlavek  to  this  place  by  road,  when  there  is 
the  broad  Vistula  waiting  for  steamers  to  bring 
commerce  and  passengers.  There  ought  to  be 
no  difficulty  about  driving  the  demon  of  poverty 
from  this  town." 

When  the  Count  rose  to  leave,  he  assured 
Rosen  of  his  hearty  support  in  anything  he  un- 
dertook, and  that  if  he  desired  to  eo  to  Plotzk 
to  get  permission  to  build  or  to  acquire  any  con- 
cession, he  would  give  him  a  letter  to  the  Gov- 
ernor. 

Rosen  accepted  the  offer  gratefully  and  said  he 
would  call  within  a  day  or  two,  as  he  then  in- 
tended to  go  to  Plotzk. 

"But  not  alone,  you  must  not  call  alone.  We 
want  you  to  bring  your  daughter;  she  can  stay 
with  us  during  the  time  you  transact  your  busi- 
ness in  Plotzk,"  said  the  Countess. 

"Your  ladyship  honours  me;  I  am  much 
obliged,"  said  Rosen. 

On  parting  the  Countess  kissed  Beatrice  and 
as  the  Count  held  her  hand  he  said : 
141 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  never  knew  what  envy  was 
until  this  moment.  I  envy  Mr.  Rosen.  God  did 
not  give  us  a  daughter.  Permit  me  to  kiss  your 
hand,  Mademoiselle." 

But  Beatrice  held  up  her  face  to  him  in  a  man- 
ner that  showed  her  deep  veneration  for  the 
aged  Count,  and  he  bent  and  kissed  her  fore- 
head. 

Notwithstanding  the  strong  liking  that  the 
Count  and  the  Countess  had  conceived  for 
Beatrice  and  her  father,  they  felt  puzzled  at  their 
appearance  in  the  town  of  Dobrzvn.  Why  had 
they  come?  What  was  their  object  in  taking  up 
their  residence  in  this  part  of  the  country  when 
they  might  as  well  have  stayed  in  Warsaw? 
Why  did  they  call  themselves  Jews  when  they 
showed  neither  in  manner  nor  features  the  least 
resemblance  to  the  race?  The  father  looked 
more  like  a  distinguished  Frenchman  than  a  Jew, 
and  the  daughter  was  so  clearly  of  a  northern 
type  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  she  was  aught 
else. 

"This  much  is  certain,"  said  the  Count,  "the 
man  is  a  relative  of  the  Epsteins,  and  one  must 
feel  a  certain  respect  for  the  relatives  of  one's 
banker,  particularly  when  the  relative  in  ques- 
tion can  afford  such  expensive  philanthropic 
amusements  as  this  gentleman  has  indulged  in 
and  wishes  to  continue." 

"A  man's  argument!  It  is  only  the  money 
that  impresses  you.  I  look  at  it  from  an  entirely 
different  point.  I  feel  that  this  girl  has  good 
142 


Count  and  Countess  de  Lack. 

blood  in  her  veins.  I  wish  I  could  find  out  who 
they  are,"  said  the  Countess. 

"She  will  be  at  the  Castle  to-morrow  or  the 
next  day;  perhaps  she  will  tell  you.  The  gods 
are  always  gracious  to  an  inquisitive  soul,"  the 
Count  said  with  a  smile. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said  and  sighed  deeply. 

The  Countess  de  Lack  was  not  sure  that  she 
would  find  the  solution  to  the  problem  that  the 
appearance  of  the  American  girl  presented,  al- 
though she  wished  for  nothing  so  keenly  and  for 
which  she  had  prayed  so  earnestly.  With  a  lov- 
ing husband  and  an  admirable  son.  Countess  de 
Lack  was  yet  lonely  and  unhappv.  Her  unhap- 
piness,  dating  back  from  girlhood,  at  which 
time  her  mother  and  younger  sister  mysteriously 
disappeared,  became  more  intense  as  the  years 
passed.  She  longed  for  her  mother  and  hoped 
that  God  in  His  mercy  would  some  time  in  this 
life  bring  her  face  to  face  with  her.  She  had 
never  loved  her  father,  whose  cruelty  drove  her 
despairing  mother  with  the  infant  in  arms  to 
seek  safety  either  in  death  or  in  distant  lands, 
and  though  with  his  demise  the  proud  name  of 
de  Pauli  became  extinct,  she  was  almost  glad  to 
be  alone.  His  regrets  and  lamentations  in  later 
vears  were  as  keen  a  torture  to  her  as  the  loss  of 
her  beloved  mother.  She  was  alone;  for  her 
cousin,  Baroness  Levanovska,  the  only  surviving 
relative  and  conditional  heiress  to  the  de  Pauli 
estates,  was  not  a  person  with  whom  she  could 
live  in  close  intimacy.     The  difference  in  their 

143 


Children  OF  Fate. 

ages  and  dispositions,  but,  above  all,  material  in- 
terests, acted  as  a  bar.  Countess  de  Lack  con- 
sidered Amanda  Levanovska  an  usurper  of  her 
sister's  rights,  and  the  Countess  had  an  unshak- 
able conviction  that  her  sister  was  alive.  Where 
was  that  sister?  The  Countess  would  have 
given  ten  years  of  her  life  to  know — to  know  it 
now  that  she  had  seen  the  American  girl  who 
so  suddenly  had  awakened  all  the  dormant  long- 
ing in  her  soul.  She  felt  herself  drawn  to  her 
by  a  power  as  strong  as  it  was  mysterious,  yet 
she  dared  not  speak  of  it  to  her  husband,  who 
would  laugh  her  out  of  countenance — the 
American  was  a  Jewess :  that  was  enough  to  si- 
lence all  arguments,  all  so-called  presentiments. 
Polish  nobles  may  seek  lost  relations  among 
Russians  or  Gypsies,  but  among  Jews,  and  Amer- 
icans at  that:  ridiculous!  Besides,  there  was 
that  "episode"  in  the  Countess*  life  for  which 
one  man  at  least  died  at  the  hand  of  another. 
Guilty  or  innocent,  it  was  best  to  let  the  dead 
past  bury  its  dead,  although  she  dreaded  and  yet 
hoped  the  best  from  the  future. 


144 


v:  CHAPTER   III.  ''■ 

BEATRICE  AND  THE  BARONESS. 

"Ah,  Baroness,  you  ought  to  see  the  new  peo- 
ple that  have  come  to  Dobrzyn.  I  saw  them  yes- 
terday ;  they  are  stopping  at  Martsup's.  I  under- 
stand that  the  man,  who  is  said  to  be  very 
wealthy,  is  going  to  build  a  big  house  here,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"That  is  not  very  interesting,  Pan  Doctor," 
said  the  Baroness,  lying  back  languidly.  "Why 
do  you  not  bring  me  the  news  I  want?" 

"My  dear  Baroness,  don't  you  think  you  are 
chasing  a  fata  morgana?  Yushu  is  dead;  there 
can  be  no  doubt  about  that.  We  have  searched 
for  two  years,  and  not  a  living  soul  seems  to 
know  anything  about  him  or  his  mother.  But 
supposing  he  lives,  will  you  mourn  for  him  all 
your  life  ?  Don't  you  think  he  is  ungrateful  not 
to  give  a  sign  as  to  his  whereabouts?" 

"Don't  say  that,  doctor.  If  there  be  any  grat- 
itude it  should  be  all  on  my  side.  He  saved  my 
life,"  she  said. 

"It  passes  my  understanding  how  the  young 
Jew  could  be  so  blind  as  to  go  away  from  you; 
but  then  he  may  have  had  his  mind  set  on  his 
cousin,  who  is  superb.    I  saw  her  yesterday." 

The  Baroness  sat  up  as  if  electrified. 

"His  cousin,  the  American  girl  ?  You  must  be 
dreaming,  doctor." 

145 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Not  in  the  least.  Of  course,  you  know  that 
they  are  intimate  with  the  de  Lacks." 

'That  is  nothing;  I  know  all  about  the  letter 
Waldeck  sent  and  the  girl's  visit  to  Vielga ;  but 
what  concerns  me  is  your  statement  that  the  girl 
is  his  cousin.    How  did  you  find  it  out?" 

"I  attended  old  Libe  and  he  told  me  of  the 
relationship." 

"I  have  a  feeling  that  the  old  man  knows 
where  Yushu  is.  If  it  were  not  that  I  have  a 
great  regard  for  him  because  he  was  Yushu's 
teacher,  I  would  have  him  tortured  to  get  the 
secret  from  him,"  she  cried,  and  her  eyes 
gleamed  wildly. 

"But  it  may  be  that  he  does  not  know.  You 
must  not  follow  your  impulse  too  much.  Do 
you  hear  much  from  Rachelka?"  he  asked,  desir- 
ing to  lead  her  mind  to  another  subject. 

"Rachelka !  Why,  yes.  I  hear  from  her  often. 
Her  aunt  died  last  autumn  and  left  her  a  large 
fortune,  which  the  sweet  soul  spends  on  the  sis- 
ters and  on  the  sick.  She  seems  to  be  quite  happy 
since  she  joined  the  Church  and  does  her  works 
of  mercy,  the  dear  creature." 

"I  wish  you  would  turn  your  mind  to  some 
such  work;  you  know  this  sort  of  languishing 
will  ruin  your  health,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Do  not  fear  for  my  health,  it  is  very  good.  I 
am  interested  just  now  in  this  American  Jewess. 
Do  you  think  she  knows  where  Yushu  is?" 

"Quite  possible;  they  are  relatives  and  they 

146J 


Beatrice  and  the  Baroness. 

would  most  likely  let  him  know  they  were  com- 
ing to  Europe." 

**And  the  father  is  building  a  house,  then  she 
will  go  to  Warsaw  or  elsewhere  and  marry  him 
and  bring  him  here  to  live,"  she  said,  and  her 
face  turned  ghastly  pale  with  the  dread  of  such 
a  possibility.     She  sprang  up. 

"Come,  doctor,  I  want  to  see  this  Jewess.  I 
want  to  find  out  if  she  is  really  as  beautiful  as 
Countess  de  Lack  says,"  she  cried. 

"I  think  the  Countess  did  not  exaggerate.  Nor 
is  the  girl's  beauty  of  the  Jewish  type." 

But  the  Baroness  did  not  hear  him  at  all ;  she 
hastily  put  on  her  hat  and  left  the  room.  The 
doctor  followed  quietly.  He  felt  distressed  at 
her  sorrow,  which,  he  well  knew,  was  beyond 
his  comfort. 

"I  shall  go  to  Martsup's  and  see  her,"  said  the 
Baroness  as  she  and  the  doctor  stepped  into  the 
carriage. 

"Let  us  hope  the  sight  will  satisfy  you,"  the 
doctor  rejoined.  Inwardly  he  told  himself  that 
the  Baroness  was  courting  danger  to  her  own 
peace  of  mind ;  but  he  was  afraid  to  express  his 
thoughts. 

It  seemed  as  though  fate  meant  to  grieve  the 
Baroness  more  keenly,  for  the  first  person  she 
met  on  entering  the  Martsup  house  was  Beatrice 
Rosen. 

For  a  few  moments  the  two  women  looked  at 
each  other  in  blank  amazement.  The  Baroness, 
recognizing  the  superlative  beauty  of  the  Amer- 

147 


Children  of  Fate. 

ican  girl,  felt  a  faintness  at  her  heart  as  she  con- 
templated her  supposed  rival.  Beatrice,  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  meaning  of  the  other's  scru- 
tiny, regarded  the  newcomer  with  undisguised 
admiration. 

"Are  you  attending  to  the  patrons  ?"  asked  the 
Baroness  in  the  Polish  language. 

"Vous  me  pardonneres,  mats  je  ne  parle  pas 
Polonais.  Madam  Martsup!"  Beatrice  called 
out. 

"Do  not  call,"  said  the  Baroness  haughtily.  "I 
desire  to  talk  to  you." 

Beatrice  was  so  glad  to  hear  the  beautiful  wo- 
man speak  French  that  she  did  not  notice  the 
haughtiness. 

"Madame "  said  Beatrice  haltingly. 

"La  Baronne"  the  other  put  in.  "You  are  an 
American,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Baronne"  Beatrice  empha- 
sized. 

The  Baroness  felt  rather  uncomfortable;  she 
realized  that  she  was  not  living  up  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  Polish  nobility,  whose  graciousness 
to  strangers  has  ever  been  their  characteristic. 

"I  am  told  that  you  are  going  to  reside  here 
permanently,"  she  said  with  greater  friendliness. 

"It  is  my  father's  intention  to  spend  here  sev- 
eral months  in  the  year.  But  I  do  not  know  his 
plans,"  Beatrice  answered. 

"You  have  relatives  here,  I  suppose?" 

"We  have  distant  relatives  in  Warsaw." 

"Distant  relatives!  You  have  visited  them?" 
148 


Beatrice  and  the  Baroness. 

"Yes,  we  spent  several  days  there,  but  I  like 
this  place  very  much." 

"Then  your  relatives  will  come  here  to  see 
you?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  Beatrice ;  she  became  con- 
scious that  she  was  being  questioned.  At  this 
moment  Mrs.  Martsup  came  into  the  room  and 
asked  the  Baroness  what  she  could  do  for  her. 
Beatrice  rose  and,  bowing  to  the  Baroness,  went 
from  the  room. 

"You  may  send  me  a  case  of  Rhine  wine  and 
a  case  of  good  Burgundy.  By  the  way,  Madam 
Martsup,  is  it  true  that  this  American  is  related 
to  some  poor  Jews  in  this  town,  to  one  Ras  or 
Ros?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  Rosen;  they  are  cousins.  The  wid- 
ow and  her  son  have  disappeared  and  no  one 
knows  anything  about  them,"  Mrs.  Martsup  an- 
swered. 

"But  they  know,  I  suppose,  where  their  rela- 
tives are?" 

"Not  at  all,  your  ladyship,  although  they  have 
sent  everywhere  and  asked  everybocly.  They 
think,  however,  that  they  are  in  Warsaw,"  said 
the  woman. 

"Ah,  well,  it  is  of  no  importance  to  me ;  adieu. 
Madam  Martsup,  and  have  the  wine  sent  to-day, 
please." 

The  Baroness  went  to  the  doctor's.  She  was 
not  satisfied.  The  American  girl  had  disquieted 
her. 

"I  am  sure  she  knows  where  he  is,"  the  Bar- 
149 


Children  of  Fate. 

oness  said,  "and  it  drives  me  mad.  I  do  not 
know,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  seen  her 
somewhere;  her  features  are  familiar;  she  does 
not  look  like  a  Jewess,  either.  There  is  some 
mystery  in  all  this." 

"What  is  that  to  you,  Baroness  ?  Why  trouble 
yourself  about  things  you  cannot  alter?"  said  the 
doctor. 

"Every  one  is  not  of  the  same  even  tempera- 
ment as  Dr.  Maral,"  she  retorted.  "All  the  ad- 
vice you  can  give  me  is  travel,  travel.  I  have 
traveled  like  a  crazy  woman  all  over  Europe,  and 
what  is  the  result  ?  I  am  as  unhappy  to-day  as  I 
was  when  you  found  me  after  that  terrible  scene 
two  years  ago.  I  envy  the  poorest  beggar  in  the 
street.  What  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do?"  she 
cried. 

"Poor  child,  I  pity  you.  Ah,  why  did  your 
love  go  out  to  the  young  Jew?  He  is  excellent, 
certainly,  but  then  you  could  never  have  married 
him.  Try  to  forget.  Marry  someone  else; 
there  is  your  cousin  Waldeck,  I  understand  that 
he  will  be  at  home  for  Christmas;  why  not 
marry  him?"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  do  not  love  any  other  man  in  this  world, 
and  if  this  Jewess  takes  him  from  me,  let  her 
beware,"  she  cried. 

Poor  Beatrice!  She  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  Baroness  Levanovska's 
unhappiness.  Notwithstanding  the  coldness  of 
the  Baroness  the  American  girl  had  taken  no 
dislike  to  her. 

I.SO 


Beatrice  and  the  Baroness. 

"She  is  as  beautiful  as  an  angel,"  she  told  her 
father,  "and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  seen  her 
somewhere.    I  am  sure  I  have  seen  her  before.'* 

"In  the  mirror,"  said  Mr.  Rosen,  "you  saw 
her  when  you  looked  at  yourself.  You  look 
enough  alike  to  be  sisters  or  at  least  cousins." 

"Then  you  have  seen  her  before  and  never 
told  me  a  word;  oh,  you  horrid  papa  to  so  de- 
ceive your  own  daughter,"  she  cried. 

"I  saw  her  only  once,  but  forgot  to  tell  you.  I 
trust  you  will  pardon  me,  little  lady,"  he  said, 
putting  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"On  condition  that  it  never  shall  happen 
again." 

"Never." 

"Then  you  may  kiss  me,"  she  said. 

Howard  Rosen  had  of  course  told  but  half  the 
truth.  He  had  not  only  seen  the  Baroness,  but 
he  had  made  careful  inquiries  about  her,  and 
during  the  time  he  spent  in  Plotzk  had  gone  into 
a  thorough  examination  of  certain  properties  be- 
longing to  the  Baroness  Levanovska  in  her  own 
right  as  descending  from  the  noble  house  of 
De  Pauli,  a  fact  which  would  have  caused  the 
Baroness  great  chagrin  had  she  suspected  it.  But 
Howard  Rosen  was  a  careful  business  man  and 
kept  his  aflfairs  to  himself;  even  his  daughter, 
whom  he  adored,  knew  practically  nothing  of 
what  he  was  doing  in  Poland.  What  she  knew 
was  what  everybody  else  knew  and  saw,  namely, 
that  he  was  contriving  to  stir  up  the  shiggish 
blood  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  town,  and  that  he 

151 


Children  of  Fate. 

appeared  to  have  but  one  aim  in  view,  to  break 
up  its  hoary  traditions  of  poverty.  He  had 
spent  a  great  deal  of  money  in  Plotzk  to  get  con- 
cessions from  the  governor.  His  building  gave 
employment  to  scores  of  people.  Then  he  aston- 
ished the  people  of  the  entire  neighbourhood  by 
an  announcement,  which  the  Count  de  Lack 
caused  to  be  sent  to  every  landowner  far  and 
wide,  that  steam  mills  for  milling  grain  and  fac- 
tories for  wool  spinning  would  be  erected  in 
Dobrzyn  by  Mr.  Howard  Rosen  and  the  Count 
de  Lack,  and  that  the  firm  would  also  do  a  gen- 
eral banking  business  and  lend  money  to  nobles 
and  other  land  owners  for  the  purpose  of  the 
better  cultivation  of  their  lands. 

This  activity  brought  prosperity  to  all  classes 
of  the  people,  and  many  and  profound  were  the 
blessings  given  to  the  American  and  to  his  beau- 
tiful daughter,  who  went  among  the  poor  like  a 
good  fairy,  giving  sympathy  and  help  to  those  in 
need.  Yet  those  who  created  so  much  happiness 
were  unhappy  themselves;  for  every  post  that 
brought  discouraging  news  regarding  the  search 
for  Joseph  and  his  mother  lowered  their  spirits 
and  made  Beatrice  wretchedly  unhappy.  She 
had  set  her  cousin  Joseph  upon  a  pedestal  for 
worship.  Daily  she  used  to  go  to  the  old  Rabbi 
Moise  Libe  and  hear  from  his  mouth  again  and 
again  the  story  how  Joseph  came  and  asked  to 
be  taught  the  Law  and  the  Talmud.  The  doctor 
and  the  priest  had  yielded  to  her  charm,  and 
from  them,  too,  she  heard  what  sort  of  a  man 

152 


Beatrice  and  the  Baroness. 

this  young  kinsman  of  hers  was.  Even  Kamin- 
ski  was  made  to  repeat  the  wonderful  story  of 
Joseph's  life,  and  the  worthy  policeman  was 
ready  to  give  his  life  for  this  girl  whose  sympa- 
thy for  Joseph  was  enough  to  win  his  regard, 
even  without  the  liberal  presents  Beatrice  had 
made  him.  She  worshiped  her  idea  of  Joseph ; 
to  her  his  soul  was  as  the  soul  of  a  saint,  his 
heart  as  the  heart  of  a  lion.  In  him  were  com- 
bined all  the  virtues  that  a  maiden's  fancy  could 
possibly  conceive.  She  seemed  to  know  every 
detail  of  his  life,  so  full  was  her  information ;  the 
only  thing  she  did  not  know — and  this  was  the 
one  thing  that  could  have  hurt  her  pure  heart — 
was  Baroness  Levanovska's  love  for  Joseph. 
Thus  she  could  meet  the  Baroness  face  to  face  at 
Castle  Lack  and  love  her,  for  her  gentle  soul 
could  hate  no  one,  whilst  the  Baroness,  the  more 
she  saw  of  the  Jewess,  could  feel  nothing  but  a 
growing  hatred  of  her. 


153 


CHAPTER  IV. 


AT  THE  BALL. 


Castle  Lack  was  decorated  from  roof  to  cellar. 
The  arched  approaches  were  festooned  with 
evergreen  and  flowers  from  the  hothouses. 
Over  the  massive  entrance,  between  the  two 
noble  towers  of  the  Castle,  there  was  set  a  caul- 
dron containing  a  mixture  of  pitch  and  hemp, 
which  at  night  was  to  blaze  as  a  beacon  light. 
Within  the  Castle  painters  and  carpenters  were 
busy  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a  work  that 
had  been  going  on  for  weeks.  Invitations  had 
been  sent  to  the  neighbouring  nobility  to  attend 
the  reception  to  be  given  in  honour  of  Count  Wal- 
deck  de  Lack,  only  child  and  heir  to  Casimir  de 
Lack,  Imperial  Councillor,  etc.,  etc.  Incidentally 
it  was  mentioned  that  it  was  to  celebrate  Count 
Waldeck's  success  in  the  "Imi>erial  States  Ex- 
amination," in  which  he  had  taken  the  first  place, 
together  with  the  nephew  of  the  famous  Profes- 
sor de  Horovitz,  who,  having  received  the  im- 
perial ring,  publicly  gave  it  to  his  friend,  Count 
Waldeck.  It  was  not  certain  whether  the  Pro- 
fessor's nephew  would  come  to  Vielga,  as  he  was 
very  busy  in  Warsaw,  the  Countess  explained  to 
Mr.  Rosen. 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  if  you  permit  this  child 
to  catch  cold,  I  shall  be  very  angry,  Mr.  Rosen. 

154 


At  the  Ball. 

I  want  her  to  be  the  queen  of  the  evening.  It 
will  be  delightful,"  she  said  as  she  left. 

"I  wish  I  could  account  for  the  strange  fancy 
that  draws  me  to  this  child.  If  she  were  my  own 
flesh  and  blood  I  could  not  think  more  fondly  of 
her,"  she  said  to  herself. 

On  entering  the  hall  she  was  caught  from  be- 
hind and  held  by  two  strong  arms,  while  a  man's 
cheek  was  pressed  against  her  own. 

''Who  is  it?"  cried  the  captor. 

"Waldeck!"  she  exclaimed,  and  soon  mother 
and  son  were  in  each  other's  arms. 

"We  did  not  expect  you  before  to-morrow; 
ihis  is  a  delicious  surprise." 

"I  thought  you  would  like  it,  dushka  (darling 
soul),"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  on  his  mother's 
shoulder.  "I  say,  dushka,  have  you  been  bathing 
in  the  waters  of  eternal  youth?  You  are  more 
beautiful  than  any  woman  I  know." 

"Thank  you,  dear  heart;  I  am  glad  to  please 
my  boy,  whom  I  adore." 

"And  yet  it  appears  that  I  am  not  the  only 
possessor  of  your  heart.  There  is  your  Jewess, 
of  whom  you  have  written  so  glowingly,"  he 
said. 

"Wait  until  you  see  her,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  how  is  he?  Has  he  improved  on  ac- 
quaintance, I  mean  from  your — the  woman's — 
point  of  view?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  never  met  a  more  liberal  or  a  more 
unassuming  man,"  said  the  Countess. 

"Epstein  tells  me  that  he  is  worth  something 

155 


Children  of  Fate. 

like  thirty  million  roubles.  It  seems  incredible. 
He  made  a  very  good  impression  upon  me  when 
I  first  saw  him  in  Warsaw.  He  reminded  me  of 
my  friend  Horovitz." 

"Warsaw  rings  with  that  young  man's  name. 
Is  he  really  so  great,  or  is  he  merely  the  fash- 
ion?'' she  asked. 

''Petit  mere,  Warsaw  does  not  know  a  hund- 
redth part  of  what  he  really  is.  Nor  do  I  pre- 
tend to  know.  You  know  Merau,  the  great 
painter?  Well,  he  told  me  that  all  the  work  he 
had  done  so  far  was  not  worth  speaking  of  after 
he  had  heard  young  Horovitz's  criticism.  The 
scientist^  'ay  the  same  thing  after  he  discusses 
any  subject  with  them.  It  is  the  same  in  the 
case  of  anything  he  takes  in  hand." 

"Has  he  been  in  love?"  asked  the  Countess. 

"I  have  not  the  least  idea;  but — oh,  it  is  the 
pretty  Jewess  you  are  thinking  of.  I  see  ma 
petite  mere  is  already  scheming  to  match  the 
matchless  souls.  Voila,  I  have  no  objection. 
Where  is  papa?" 

"He  has  gone  down  to  look  at  the  new  well 
they  are  boring,"  she  said. 

Waldeck  kissed  her  and  went  to  see  his  father. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  the 
guests  began  to  arrive.  They  came  from  Vlotz- 
lavek,  Lipno  and  Plotzk.  The  great  halls  were 
soon  filled  with  men  and  women  who  were 
charmed  with  the  welcome  provided  for  them. 

The  political  temper  of  the  Poles  had  gradu- 
ally toned  down  to  a  philosophical  acceptance  of 

IS6 


At  the  Ball. 

the  inevitable,  and  although  many  felt  chagrined 
at  the  presence  of  Count  Radzin,  a  Tartar  and 
Colonel  of  a  regiment  of  Cossacks  that  had  acted 
outrageously  in  the  province,  the  majority  ap- 
peared pleased  or  indifferent  at  the  presence  of 
a  number  of  Russian  officers  and  officials. 

The  appearance  of  the  Countess  leaning  on  her 
son's  arm  was  greeted  with  loud  acclamation. 
The  eye  of  the  Countess  searched  the  crowd  of 
people  to  find  one  dearer  to  her  than  any  save 
Waldeck.  She  gave  a  start  as  the  Baroness 
Levanovska  came  up  radiant  as  a  sunbeam.  She 
appeared  the  very  image  of  Beatrice,  and  there 
was  not  in  her  beautiful  face  a  trace  that  be- 
trayed the  misery  of  her  soul. 

"How  do  you  do,  cousin?"  said  Waldeck, 
kissing  the  Baroness*  hand. 

"I  am  quite  well.  It  is  so  dreadfully  long 
since  I  saw  you  that  I  almost  forgot  we  were 
cousins,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"But  I  did  not  forget,  and  now  I  am  doubly 
glad  that  I  kept  it  in  mind,  for  you  are  very 
beautiful,  Amanda,"  he  said,  bending  over  her. 

"That  a  great  savant  such  as  you  should  not 
have  forgotten  to  be  polite,  redeems  your  sex. 
I  wonder  whom  your  mother  is  greeting  so  af- 
fectionately," she  said,  with  a  pain  at  her  heart, 
for  she  had  recognized  Beatrice.  "Apropos," 
she  continued,  "you  know  we  have  become  lib- 
erals in  Poland,  and  have  taken  all  sorts  of  peo- 
ple into  our  ranks.  An  American,  a  Jew,  I  be- 
lieve, has  conquered  the  entire  aristocracy,  and 

157 


Children  of  Fate. 

has  bamboozled  your  father  into  some  business 
partnership.  Oh,  Waldeck,  there  is  that  dread- 
ful Russian,  Count  Radzin.  He  has  been  perse- 
cuting me  with  his  attentions  for  over  a  year. 
I  hate  him.     Take  me  away." 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  dreadful  but  hand- 
some Russian  came  up,  and  bowing  profoundly, 
begged  the  honor  of  offering  his  arm  to  the 
Baroness. 

*T  wish  I  could  offer  your  ladyship  something 
better  than  an  ice,  but  they  are  serving  ices  in 
the  next  room  and  I  wish  to  put  myself  at  the 
disposal  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Po- 
land," said  the  Count. 

"That  was  exceedingly  well  put,  and  my 
cousin,  the  Baroness,  must  appreciate  it,"  Wal- 
deck put  in. 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you.  The  Count  did  not 
intend  it  to  be  a  compliment,  as  there  is  no  Po- 
land. But  a  conquered  people  has  no  choice," 
said  the  Baroness. 

"Pardon,  chere  Baronne,  his  imperial  majesty 
has  conquered  the  territory,  but  Poland  is  still 
supreme,  she  is  sovereign,"  the  Count  rejoined. 

"I  fail  to  see  it ;  how  ?"  asked  the  Baroness. 

"In  her  women,"  the  Count  replied,  bowing. 

"Cest  bien  vrm"  cried  the  old  Count  de  Lack, 
who  had  come  up  with  Mr.  Rosen.  "Permit  me 
to  introduce  to  your  ladyship  my  friend,  Mr. 
Rosen." 

The  Baroness  inclined  her  head. 

"Count  Radzin,  Mr.  Rosen." 

158 


At  the  Ball. 

The  Count,  taking  the  hint  from  the  Baroness, 
bowed  politely,  very  politely,  so  politely  that  the 
sneer  with  which  the  bow  was  accompanied  was 
an  obvious  affront.  Rosen  felt  it,  but  he  had  al- 
ready learned  a  lesson  in  Poland  and  concealed 
his  resentment.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
Waldeck,  who  grasped  it  and  shook  it  heartily. 

The  Baroness,  thoroughly  pleased  with  Count 
Radzin's  manner,  took  his  arm  and  was  led 
away.  A  moment  later  the  Countess,  leading 
Beatrice,  came  up,  and  as  they  came  into  full 
view  of  the  three  men  standing  under  the  chan- 
delier, the  latter  started  as  if  moved  by  the  same 
impulse  and  looked  at  the  two  women  with  an  as- 
tonishment that  bordered  on  amazement. 

The  Countess  and  Beatrice  appeared  like 
mother  and  daughter,  the  latter  a  younger  coun- 
terpart of  the  former,  but  with  a  likeness  so 
strong  that  no  one  could  possibly  mistake  it. 

Howard  Rosen  was  bewildered,  but  his  mind 
failed  to  solve  the  puzzle.  The  old  Count  seemed 
seized  with  a  sort  of  vertigo,  and  involuntarily 
his  hand  caught  Waldeck's.  The  latter,  intoxi- 
cated by  the  beautiful  vision,  asked : 

"Who  is  she?" 

The  question  broke  the  spell,  but  before  any 
of  them  could  speak,  the  Countess  de  Lack  intro- 
duced Beatrice  to  her  son,  or  rather  him  to  her, 
for  she  addressed  herself  to  the  girl,  saying: 

"Beatrice  dear,  permit  me  to  introduce  to  you 
my  son,  Waldeck." 

Beatrice  gave  him  her  hand. 

159 


Children  of  Fate. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  I  have  heard  so 
much  about  you  that  I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  you 
for  a  long  time,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  hope,  Miss  Rosen,  that  you  have 
heard  only  what  was  good  and  that  I  may  not 
prove  a  disappointment,"  he  said,  thrilled  by  the 
melody  of  her  voice. 

"That  is  not  likely,  for  to-night's  impression 
is  not  the  first,"  she  said  smilingly. 

"How?"  asked  Waldeck. 

"I  saw  you  once  before." 

"Where?"  he  cried. 

"In  Warsaw,"  she  said,  amused  at  his  mysti- 
fication. 

"In  Warsaw,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with  in- 
tense admiration,  "it  would  have  been  impossible 
for  me  not  to  have  seen  you  unless  you  were  hid- 
den behind  the  curtains  of  your  window  or  in  a 
closed  carriage." 

"Neither ;  I  was  driving  in  the  Lazienki  Park ; 
you  were  in  a  carriage  with  two  other  gentle- 
men, and  passed  us  on  the  way  to  the  Botanical 
Gardens,"  she  said. 

"Upon  my  word,  that  is  so;  I  remember; 
but " 

He  felt:  almost  pain  in  his  regret  at  not  having 
seen  her  then.  He  would  have  given  much  to 
have  had  this  beautiful  image  in  his  mind. 

"You  were  going  to  say,"  she  said,  looking  up 
to  him. 

"That  I  was  held  in  thrall  by  the  rhythm  of 
poetry.     My  friend,  Joseph  Horovitz,  was  com- 

i6o 


At  the  Ball. 

paring  Mitchkievitch  with  Heine  and  he  recited 
the  verses  of  both  with  such  pathos  that  I  saw 
nothing  and  heard  nothing  but  his  voice  and  his 
face.  Joseph  has  a  marvelous  face  and  he  is  a 
poet.'' 

Beatrice  had  started  at  the  mention  of  the 
name.  Her  face  flushed ;  she  felt  as  if  the  mys- 
tery were  to  be  solved  at  last. 

"Did  you  say  Joseph?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Professor  Horovitz  and  his  nephew, 
Joseph  Horovitz,"  he  answered.  "Do  you  know 
him?" 

"Oh,  no ;  but  the  name  Joseph  made  me  think 
of  my  poor  cousin  for  whom  we  have  searched 
far  and  wide.  He  and  his  mother  disappeared 
from  Dobrzyn  and  all  efforts  to  find  them  have 
proved   unsuccessful,"   she   said. 

"Is  it  not  strange  that  you  and  I  should  be  in- 
terested in  the  name  Joseph?  for  the  Joseph  I 
know  is  my  most  intimate  friend ;  but  he  is  quite 
wealthy,  so  it  can  scarcely  be  your  Joseph.  I 
could  tell  many  an  interesting  story  of  my  Jo- 
seph. But  they  would  hardly  interest  you,"  he 
said. 

"If  they  are  bad  stories,"  she  said  smilingly, 
"they  would  not  interest  me." 

"Bad  stories!"  cried  Waldeck,  "the  stories 
about  my  friend  are  all  good  stories.  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned  that  he  is  a  poet.  To  this  I 
must  add  that  he  is  a  scientist,  a  linguist,  a  phil- 
osopher and  a  philanthropist." 

i6i 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Is  he  all  that?"  she  said,  thinking  that  the 
Count  was  exaggerating  to  olease  her. 

**He  is  all  that  and  more,"  Waldeck  rejoined. 
*'He  haunts  the  sick  wards  of  the  hospitals.  His 
time,  his  money,  and  his  skill  are  put  at  the  ser- 
vice of  all  Warsaw.  It  is  a  privilege  to  be  his 
friend." 

And  as  he  looked  into  her  upturned  face  that 
expressed  the  intensity  with  which  she  was  lis- 
tening, he  felt  a  sudden  pain  in  noting  that  the 
interest  he  desired  to  concentrate  upon  himself 
had  by  his  eloquence  been  transferred  to  an- 
other. 

**And  his  name  is  Joseph?"  she  asked  with  a 
tenderness  in  her  voice  that  augmented  his  pain. 

"I  wish  I  had  not  mentioned  his  name,"  said 
Waldeck. 

"Why,  pray?"  she  asked. 

"Because  you  will  grow  interested  in  this  Jo- 
seph to  the  disadvantage  of  his  friend,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"You  are  selfish.  Count,"  said  Beatrice;  "if  I 
had  a  friend  who  was  as  noble  as  your  friend 
Joseph  I  should  never  tire  of  praising  him,"  she 
said. 

"If  he  knew  that  I  was  saying  as  much  as  I 
have  he  would  feel  hurt,  for  he  is  the  most  mod- 
est of  men.  Many  of  those  who  live  on  his 
bounty  do  not  know  the  giver.  He  holds  that 
to  put  people  under  an  obligation  is  to  sow 
the  seed  of  hatred  in  their  breasts,  for  of  all 
burdens  the  heaviest  is  that  of  enforced  grati- 
162 


At  the  Ball. 

tude.  Let  us  ennoble  our  work,  he  says,  by  not 
exacting  any  toll  for  it.  Let  us  lift  up  mankind 
by  cultivating  their  love  and  let  us  make  them 
grateful  to  God  who  feeds  the  birds  and  the 
beasts  of  the  field,  and  takes  care  of  the  creatures 
His  hand  has  made.  Man  does  not  feel  gratitude 
to  be  a  burden  when  he  takes  a  gift  from  his 
Father  in  heaven.  So  you  will  understand.  Miss 
Rosen,  that  a  man  like  that,  thinking  as  he  does, 
cannot  possibly  desire  open,  or  indeed  any, 
praise." 

"From  what  I  have  heard  of  my  cousin's 
character,"  said  Beatrice,  "I  am  quite  sure  that 
if  he  had  large  means,  he  would  live  and  act  as 
your  friend  does.  And  here  there  is  a  large  for- 
tune waiting  for  him  if  he  would  only  come  and 
take  it.  Oh,  if  we  could  find  him !"  she  said,  and 
her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears. 

"I  wish  I  could  be  of  assistance  to  you,  Miss 
Rosen,"  cried  Waldeck. 

"We  have  done  all  that  earnest  effort  and 
money  can  possibly  do  to  find  them,  but  they 
seem  lost,"  she  said. 

Waldeck's  heart  beat  furiously ;  he  felt  he  was 
in  love  with  the  girl.  He  gave  no  heed  to  the 
complications  that  might  arise  if  he  declared 
himself.  He  was  intoxicated  by  her  voice,  her 
beauty,  her  perfect  grace,  and  he  might  have 
spoken  then  if  his  mother  had  not  interrupted  by 
asking  him  to  take  Beatrice  to  the  table. 

"They  are  not  lost,"  he  whispered  as  he  led 
her  away,  "I  will  find  them  for  you." 
163 


Children  of  Fate. 

She  gave  him  a  grateful  look. 

Baroness  Levanovska,  who  sat  at  Waldeck's 
right,  tried  to  engage  him  in  conversation,  but  all 
his  thoughts  were  with  the  American  girl.  His 
preoccupation  was  not  lost  upon  the  Baroness. 
An  affront  to  Beatrice  trembled  on  her  lips. 
Only  respect  for  the  girl's  father,  who  reminded 
her  of  Joseph,  prevented  her. 

At  length  all  was  over, — the  dinner  with  its 
speeches,  the  music,  the  theatricals  conducted  by 
the  village  schoolmaster;  all  the  little  details 
connected  with  an  entertainment  given  by  one 
of  the  richest  Polish  magnates  in  honor  of  his 
son — an  entertainment  which  this  son  in  his 
present  condition  was  in  no  mind  to  appreciate; 
all  was  at  length  done  with,  and  the  guests  re- 
turned to  the  great  halls  that  were  now  arranged 
for  dancing. 

The  band  played  a  Mazurka.  In  a  moment 
dozens  of  couples,  flinging  themselves  into  the 
spirit  of  the  rhythm,  whirled  round  with  a  click- 
ing of  heels  as  they  wove  the  circles  of  this  fas- 
cinating dance  through  the  brilliantly  lighted 
hall. 

Beatrice  and  Waldeck,  too,  danced,  but  only 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  sat  down. 

"I  would  rather  not  dance.  It  seems  a  sin  to 
be  gay  when  my  poor  aunt  and  her  son  may  be 
in  trouble,"  she  said. 

"You  can  do  them  no  good  by  saddening  your- 
self," he  said. 

"I  suppose  not,  and  I  think  you  are  right,  only 
164 


At  the  Ball. 

I  happened  to  think  of  them.  Well,  tell  me 
something  about  yourself." 

"Myself!"  he  said.  "I  have  nothing  to  say 
about  myself.  Just  now  I  should  best  like  to 
talk  to  you  about  yourself.  Do  you  believe  in 
spontaneity?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"It  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  the 
term,"  she  replied. 

"I  mean  spontaneous  affection — love  at  first 
sight." 

"I  have  read  of  such  a  thing  and  have  heard  it 
spoken  of;  but  as  for  having  any  belief  in  it,  I 
don't  know  what  to  say.  It  seems  to  me  that 
people  could  not  love  each  other  unless  they  had 
known  each  other  for  a  long  time,"  she  said. 

"I  can  say  nothing  from  experience  either,  for 
I  have  never  been  in  love.  But  it  seems  to  me 
that  an  intelligent  person  with  quick  wits  and  a 
great  capacity  for  emotion  would  know  at  once 
if  he  really  loved  a  woman  or " 

"That  would  be  only  momentary  desire,"  she 
broke  in. 

"Not  necessarily.  In  love,  as  in  all  else,  a  be- 
ginning must  be  made;  and  passionate  natures, 
seeing  a  diamond  and  desiring  to  possess  it,  use 
all  their  energies  to  get  it." 

"But  suppose  they  find  the  diamond  to  be  only 
paste?"  she  asked. 

"The  judgment  of  the  heart  is  infallible  and," 
he  said,  taking  her  hand — they  were  in  a  niche 
shaded  by  big  plants — "I  know  that  I  love  you." 

"No,  no.  Count,  you  must  not  say  such  things. 

165 


Children  of  Fate. 

You  frighten  me.  I  did  not  think  your  words 
pointed  to  me.    Come,  let  us  go." 

Whatever  more  he  might  have  said  to  further 
his  suit  was  hindered  by  the  appearance  of  the 
Countess,  in  whose  train  was  a  swarm  of  young 
men  eager  to  dance  with  the  beautiful  American. 
Count  Radzin  boldly  extended  his  arm  to 
Beatrice,  and  she,  glad  to  get  away  from  a  situ- 
ation that  began  to  be  uncomfortable,  took  the 
Count's  arm  and  was  led  away. 

''How  do  you  like  her,  my  son?"  asked  the 
Countess. 

Waldeck  made  no  reply. 

"Waldeck!" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  gazing  at  Beatrice 
as  she  glided  past  them,  the  very  incarnation  of 
grace  and  rhythm. 

"My  dear  son,  remember!" 

"I  cannot  help  it,  mamma,  I  love  her  and  I 
shall  love  none  other,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  my  poor  child,  I  made  you  unhappy; 
alas,  you  can  never  marry  her,  she  is  a  Jewess." 

"If  that  be  all,  I  shall  not  trouble;  for  either 
she  will  turn  Catholic  or  I  shall  take  her  faith. 
But  is  it  not  strange  I  never  thought  of  her  re- 
ligion while  I  spoke  to  her,  and,  mother  dear, 
she  does  not  look  like  a  Jewess.  She  looks,  in 
fact,  the  image  of  you." 

"Of  me?"  cried  the  Countess. 

At  that  moment  Howard  Rosen,  Count  de  Lack 
and  Beatrice  approached  them. 

i66 


At  the  Ball. 

"You  are  not  going  already?"  cried  the 
Countess. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  but  we  must  go,"  said  Rosen 
firmly. 

"I  wish  you  would  stay  here  for  the  night,  you 
and  your — the  young  lady,"  said  Count  de  Lack. 

Howard  Rosen  felt  as  if  some  one  had  stuck  a 
knife  into  him,  so  keen  was  the  pain  he  felt  from 
an  unaccountable  sensation  which  he  could  not 
explain  to  himself.    He  wanted  to  get  away. 

Countess  de  Lack  and  Waldeck  heard  the  hesi- 
tation in  the  Count's  words,  and  while  Waldeck 
was  mystified  and  disturbed,  the  Countess  felt 
as  if  an  icy  fringe  of  death  had  touched  her 
heart,  and  no  sooner  had  the  Rosens  left  than 
she  went  to  her  room.  When,  an  hour  after,  the 
Count  came  in,  he  found  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  silver  crucifix,  her  head  bowed  low  in 
silent  prayer. 


167 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  PLOT. 

Baroness  Levanovska,  who  had  seen  at  a 
glance  that  Waldeck  was  in  love  with  the  fair 
American,  felt  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  do 
her  an  injury.  She  herself  was  not  in  love  with 
Waldeck,  but  she  hated  to  think  that  this  for- 
eigner should  come  here  and  conquer  all  hearts 
and  stand  in  the  way  of  her  ultimate  alliance 
with  Joseph.  "She  is  a  Jewess,  and  he  will  pre- 
fer her,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  thus  nursed  her 
hatred  till  it  nearly  made  her  mad. 

"In  olden  times  one  could  find  a  knight  who 
would  do  a  woman's  bidding,"  she  said  to  Count 
Radzin. 

"I  will  do  anything  you  like,"  he  rejoined. 

"Do  not  make  rash  promises.  Count.  I  am 
very  exacting." 

"I  accept  the  challenge,"  he  said. 

"Well,  then,  come  and  see  me  at  the  Castle," 
she  said. 

"When  may  I  call,  chere  Baronne?"  he  asked. 

"Are  you  going  to  Plotzk  to-night?" 

"No,  I  shall  stay  here  and  leave  late  in  the 
afternoon  to-morrow,"  he  replied. 

"Then  you  may  call  on  Friday,"  she  said  and 
smiled  on  him. 

They  spent  the  evening  together,  and  when 
he  saw  her  to  her  sleigh  he  had  already  declared 
i68 


The  Plot. 

his  undying  love,  and  as  the  Baroness  had  only 
smiled,  he  took  it  for  granted  that  she  had  ac- 
cepted his  suit. 

On  Friday  the  Count  called  and  he  was  de- 
lighted at  the  friendliness  of  her  reception. 

"I  am  in  great  trouble,  Count,"  she  said. 

"Pray  tell  me,  and  if  I  can  be  of  any  service, 
command  me." 

"If  you  loved  a  woman  with  all  the  strength 
of  your  heart  and  soul  and  some  one  came  and 
desired  to  take  her  away  from  you,  what  would 
you  do?"  she  asked. 

"That  would  be  impossible,  because  no  one 
would  dare  to  attempt  such  a  thing,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling  grimly  and  showing  his  teeth  ob- 
stinately set. 

"But  if  some  one  should,"  she  persisted. 

"I  would  have  him  flogged  to  death,"  he  said. 

"Let  us  assume  that  it  were  not  a  woman  in 
question  but  an  estate  which  you  had  held  in  un- 
disputed possession  for  many  years,  when  a 
stranger  came  and  tried  to  rob  you  of  it.  Would 
you  fight  for  it?" 

"Baroness,  I  beg  you  to  speak  more  plainly. 
I  am  not  an  adept  in  mysteries  and  if  I  have  to 
fight  a  foe  I  want  to  see  him.  I  am  willing  to 
give  my  life  for  you,  but  I  must  know  for  what," 
he  said. 

"Very  well,  then,  listen.  Yesterday  Zaman- 
ski,  the  lawyer  from  Plotzk,  called  upon  me.  He 
showed  me  papers  which  declared  that  this  Jew- 
ess, Beatrice  Rosen,  is  in  fact  the  Countess  Bea- 
169 


Children  of  Fate. 

trice  da  Paula,  my  uncle's  granddaughter  and 
the  rightful  heiress  to  Wysiniaski.  He  main- 
tains that  she  is  the  only  person  living  that  can 
lay  claim  to  these  estates.  The  thing  is  a  secret. 
But  if  it  turn  out  to  be  the  truth,  th€  disgrace 
will  kill  me.  Give  up  my  estates  to  a  Jewess !" 
she  cried. 

''You  shall  not,"  said  the  Count. 

"How  can  it  be  hindered?"  she  asked. 

"It  shall  be  prevented,  if  you  give  me  the  right 
to  do  it,"  he  said. 

"I  give  it  you,"  she  rejoined,  giving  him  her 
hand. 

"She  shall  disappear  as  if  she  had  never  ex- 
isted," he  said,  kissing  her  hand. 

"Ah,  but  her  father  watches  her,  and  he  would 
sacrifice  anything  to  find  her,"  she  put  in. 

"It  would  do  him  no  good ;  besides,  I  will  have 
him  sent  to  Siberia  as  soon  as  the  girl  is  done 
away  with.  All  I  desire  to  know  is  her  manner 
of  living.    Does  she  go  out  much?" 

"Rarely,  but  she  drives  to  Castle  Lack  every 
Monday." 

"And  when  you  are  free  of  this  Jewess?"  he 
asked. 

"Then  you  shall  receive  your  richest  reward," 
she  replied. 

"You,"  he  cried,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

She  turned  deadly  pale  and  bit  her  lip,  but  said 
nothing. 


170 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  MARRIAGE  BROKER. 

Although  Howard  Rosen  was  but  little  iden- 
tified with  the  Jews  in  Dobrzyn,  they  took  no 
less  keen  an  interest  in  his  affairs,  and  talked  of 
him  with  pride.  There  were  those  who  criticised 
his  "promiscuous  charity"  and  were  of  the  opin- 
ion that  a  Jew  must  accord  all  the  benefits  he 
had  to  bestow  on  none  but  Jews.  There  was  a 
serious  discussion  among  the  elders  of  the  Syna- 
gogue whether  they  should  accept  his  offer  to 
build  a  new  Talmud  Academy  building.  The 
main  objection  of  some  of  the  severely  orthodox 
was  that  he  had  built,  furnished  and  fully  en- 
dowed a  home  for  aged  Catholics.  The  fanatics 
seemed  likely  to  carry  their  point  when  the 
Rabbi  interposed  and  declared  that  charity 
should  recognize  no  difference  of  race,  creed  or 
sex,  and  that  this  rich  man  whom  God  had  sent 
as  a  redeemer  to  the  people  of  Dobrzyn,  and  who 
was  in  the  counsel  of  the  mighty  in  the  land, 
must  be  considered  as  an  exception  to  the  rule 
by  which  other  men  are  judged. 

"I  have  been  Rabbi  in  this  community  for 
more  than  twenty  years  and  in  all  these  years  I 
have  never  received  more  than  TEN  roubles  a 
week,"  he  cried,  emphasizing  the  word  ten. 
"Now  this  man  has  come  here  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  raise  the  status  of  the  officers  of 
171 


Children  of  Fate 

the  congregation.  I  am  receiving  a  princely  sal- 
ary, and  even  the  under-sexton  is  on  a  salary. 
The  house  to  house  collection  has  been  abolished, 
and  peace  and  plenty  is  with  us,  therefore  let  us 
not  offend  this  man  lest  we  sin  against  God." 

The  Rabbi's  speech  made  a  deep  impression, 
Rosen's  offer  was  accepted  with  thanks  and  the 
new  Academy  was  built. 

There  was,  however,  one  person  in  Dobrzyn 
who  had  not  benefited  by  Rosen's  munificence, 
although  he  was  poor  and  his  wife  frequently 
told  him  that  he  would  never  amount  to  any- 
thing. 

"Everybody  in  town  is  getting  rich,  and  all 
through  the  American;  only  you  have  nothing, 
and  while  other  women  have  new  hats  and  new 
wigs  to  wear  on  the  Sabbath,  I  must  wear  my  old 
things.  I  wish  I  had  died  before  I  ever  married 
you,"  she  cried  and  fell  to  sobbing. 

"But  don't  you  see,  Ella  dear,  that  other  people 
are  in  a  business  where  they  can  deal  with  the 
American,  while  I  am  a  marriage  broker. 
What  shall  I  do  if  I  cannot  find  a  suitable  match 
for  his  daughter?"  he  replied. 

"Have  you  tried?  Everybody  says  to  me, 
'Well,  Mrs.  Guilof,  your  husband  is  sure  to  make 
a  fortune  one  of  these  days,*  and  what  can  I  say, 
can  I  tell  the  world  that  my  husband  sits  over 
his  musty  old  books  all  day  long  and  never 
makes  an  effort  to  go  near  the  American  ?" 

Mr.  Guilof  winced  under  his  wife's  words  and 
made  up  his  mind  to  do  something  toward  se- 
172 


The  Marriage  Broker. 

curing  her  a  new  hat  and  a  new  wig.  He  oiled 
the  corkscrew  curls  that  hung  on  his  temples, 
touched  up  his  long  red  beard,  and  put  on  his 
satin-lined  fur  coat  and  high  fur  cap.  His  wife 
Ella  watched  all  these  preparations  with  silent 
satisfaction,  but  let  it  appear  as  if  she  saw  noth- 
ing of  what  was  going  on. 

"I  am  going,  Ella,"  he  said. 

"Going  where?"  she  asked. 

"To  see  Mr.  Rosen." 

"But  you  have  no  match  for  his  daughter," 
cried  Mrs.  Guilof. 

"My  dear,  you  do  not  understand.  I  shall 
offer  him  the  son  of  Jacob  Praski,  who  has  just 
come  back  from  the  Wilna  Talmud  University 
and  is  qualified  to  be  Rabbi.  If  he  says  'yes', 
then  the  business  is  done." 

"But  supposing  the  young  man  does  not  want 
to  marry  her?"  she  asked. 

"Not  marry  her  with  so  much  money?  Im- 
possible !    No  one  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"But  you  have  had  one  experience  already; 
don't  you  remember  Lerko's  daughter?"  she  said. 

"Well,  she  was  a  woman;  but  a  man,  and  a 
good  Jew,  is  not  such  a  fool.  With  the  help  of 
God  I  shall  succeed.** 

"May  God  hear  your  words  and  let  them  come 
true,''  she  called  after  him  as  he  went  out. 

Mr.  Guilof,  however,  would  not  take  any 
chances  on  the  strength  of  his  own  eloquence,  so 
he  recited  several  Psalms  on  the  way  and  prayed 
God  to  soften  the  heart  of  the  American  so  that 

173 


Children  of  Fate. 

— well,  he  had  not  finished  his  prayer  when  Jan, 
the  erstwhile  stage  driver,  who  was  now  in  the 
service  of  Rosen,  stopped  his  progress  and  asked 
him  what  he  wanted. 

Mr.  Guilof  looked  supremely  astonished. 

"Why,  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Rosen,  of  course," 
he  cried. 

"Then  wait,  I  will  see  if  my  master  wishes  to 
see  you,"  said  the  other  to  his  confusion. 

A  moment  later  Jan  came  back  and  told  the 
man  to  follow  him. 

As  soon  as  Guilof  saw  the  American  he  forgot 
his  chagrin. 

"Good  morning  Mr.  Rosen,"  he  said. 

"Good  morning  Mr.  Guilof,  what  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"I  have  come  to  do  something  for  you,  Mr. 
Rosen,"  said  Guilof,  seating  himself  and  taking 
a  pinch  of  snuff  from  a  polished  horn  snuff  box. 
He  extended  the  box  to  Rosen,  assuring  him  at 
the  same  time  that  it  was  the  best  French  rapee. 

But  Rosen  was  not  dwelling  on  snuff  but  upon 
the  events  that  had  happened  the  night  before  at 
the  Castle.  The  match-maker  noticed  that  he  was 
preoccupied  and  decided  to  come  to  the  point  at 
once. 

"Mr.  Rosen,  I  am  here  to  propose  a  brilliant 
party  for  your  daughter,  and  it  is  no  less  a  person 
than  the  son  of  Mr.  Jacob  Praski,  of  whose  piety 
and  wonderful  learning  you  have  heard." 

Howard  Rosen  appeared  to  be  lost  in  thought. 
Then  a  smile  flitted  across  his  face. 

174 


The  Marriage  Broker. 

"If  you  bring  about  this  aflfair  how  large  a 
commission  do  you  expect?" 

"If  you  give  your  daughter  a  dower  of  one 
hundred  thousand  roubles,  my  commission  would 
be,  with  your  kind  leave,  five  roubles  per  thous- 
and," he  said  exultingly. 

"Supposing  I  did  not  care  to  entertain  any  mar- 
riage proposition  for  my  daughter?"  asked 
Rosen. 

"Then  I  should  go  away  and  say  to  myself  that 
I  was  unfortunate  in  this  business,"  was  the  sad 
reply. 

"Of  course  there  are  other  match-makers  in 
other  cities  who  are  likely  to  take  it  up.  If  they 
come  here  would  they  call  on  you  before  they 
came  to  see  me?"  asked  the  American. 

"Always ;  because  I  have  a  reputation,  sir,  far 
and  wide,  and  they  would  not  think  of  coming 
into  my  territory  without  first  seeing  me,"  he 
said  proudly. 

Rosen  seemed  lost  in  thought  over  the  match- 
maker's rejoinder,  then  he  turned  to  his  safe  and 
took  out  two  hundred  and  fifty  roubles. 

"Take  this  money,  sir,  as  a  gift  from  me  for 
the  present.  I  shall  not  entertain  the  thought  of 
having  Mr.  Praski's  son  as  a  son-in-law,  nor  any- 
one else.  I  also  beg  of  you  to  make  it  your  busi- 
ness to  tell  all  marriage  brokers  that  my  daughter 
is  not  in  the  market.  I  shall  consider  this  a  ser- 
vice worth  much  more  than  the  sum  I  pay  you 
now.  I  trust  you  will  excuse  me  as  I  have  some 
other  business  to  attend  to." 

175 


Children  or  Fate. 

Mr.  Guilof,  having  taken  the  money,  was  in  a 
position  to  take  the  hint,  and,  expressing  his  great 
appreciation  of  Rosen's  wisdom  and  Hberality, 
went  away. 

A  few  moments  later  the  Countess  de  Lack  was 
announced,  and  as  she  entered,  Rosen  was  shock- 
ed at  the  haggard  expression  in  her  face. 


i;6 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  SOLUTION  OF  A  PROBLEM. 

"What  has  happened,  my  lady  ?"  cried  Rosen. 

"Everything  except  death,"  was  the  answer. 

"I  do  not  understand;  what  has  caused  you 
trouble?" 

"Beatrice,"  said  the  Countess. 

"My  daughter?"  cried  Rosen. 

"There  are  people  who  do  not  believe  that 
Beatrice  is  your  daughter,"  said  the  Countess 
with  a  laugh  that  chilled  his  blood. 

"Who  dares?"  he  cried. 

"The  Count,  my  husband,"  was  the  reply. 

Rosen  fell  back  as  if  struck  in  the  chest. 

"By  what  right  does  the  Count  say  this?  He 
must  have  some  strong  reason  for  making  this 
outrageous  statement  and  he  must  know  that  he 
will  be  held  personally  responsible,"  he  cried. 

The  Countess  was  silent. 

"I  beg  you,  madam,  to  tell  me  all.  You  could 
not  possibly  have  come  here  to  torture  me.  What 
does  the  Count  say?" 

**He  believes  Beatrice  is  my  daughter''  said 
the  Countess,  and  sank  down  in  the  chair,  sob- 
bing bitterly. 

Howard  Rosen  gave  a  hoarse  cry.  He  stag- 
gered back  and  caught  at  his  throat  as  if  he  were 
choking.  At  last  he  regained  sufficient  strength 
to  speak. 

T^77 


Children  of  Fate. 

"This  is  terrible,  monstrous.  This  accusation 
does  not  only  affect  you,  it  affects  the  fair  name 
of  my  innocent  child.  I  am  going  to  thrust  the 
lie  down  your  husband's  throat,"  he  cried, 
springing  to  his  feet. 

"Howard  Rosen,  you  w511  not,"  cried  jthe 
Countess,  and  ran  up  to  him.  "You  are  my 
friend,  are  you  not?  In  this  supreme  moment  of 
my  life  I  will  not  delude  myself  with  false  pride, 
I  look  upon  you  as  my  best  and  only  friend,  and 
it  is  for  you  to  stand  by  me  and  help  me  unravel 
this  mystery." 

"How  can  I?  I  am  an  American.  I  know 
very  little  of  affairs  here.  What  I  do  know  is 
that  my  wife  was  a  Pole  and  of  noble  birth,  and 
that  my  daughter  is  heiress  to  one  of  the  richest 
estates  in  Poland." 

"What  was  your  wife's  maiden  name?"  asked 
the  Countess,  her  excitement  increasing. 

"Wanda  da  Paula." 

"What ?" 

The  Countess  uttered  this  one  word  and  then 
fainted.  When  she  came  to  herself  and  realised 
what  had  taken  place,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Rosen  was  moved  at  the  sight  of  her  grief 
and  rose  to  hide  his  sympathy.  But  the  voice  of 
the  Countess,  with  rare  sweetness,  called  him. 

"Howard,  do  not  leave  me.  Come  here,  come 
closer  to  me.  Oh,  Howard,  you  have  made  me 
so  happy.  Howard,  Wanda  was  my  sister,  I 
am  a  da  Paula." 


178 


The  Solution  of  a  Problem. 

It  was  now  Rosen's  turn  to  be  stupefied  with 
surprise. 

"I  did  not  know  that  the  connection  was  on 
this  side,"  he  said  and  his  face  lit  up  with  a 
rare  gladness.    Suddenly  his  face  clouded. 

"You  said,  Countess,  that  the  Count  suspected 
you  of  being  the  motiher  of  Beatrice.  I  have 
never  seen  you  in  my  life,  although  I  think  that 
you  must  be  the  Martha  whose  picture  I  saw  at 
my  mother-in-law's  house  and  of  whom  she 
spoke  affectionately  and  tearfully.  It  was  only 
at  her  death  that  we  found  she  had  a  large  es- 
tate and  that  she  was  a  peeress  of  the  Polish 
kingdom.  With  her  papers  and  the  titles,  I 
came  here  at  her  particular  request  to  establish 
my  daughter's  rights.  Alas,  I  wish  my  poor 
Wanda  had  lived,  then  indeed  I  should  have  felt 
perfect  happiness.  But  if  you  desire  to  give  me 
peace  of  mind,  tell  me  how  the  Count  came  to 
say  what  he  did,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand. 

The  face  of  the  Countess  became  flushed. 

"Of  corrse,  you  do  not  know  the  reason  why 
my  mother  went  to  America,  but  the  truth  is 
that  my  father,  the  Count  de  Pauli,  being  a  man 
of  ungovernable  temper,  became  enraged  be- 
cause my  mother  gave  birth  to  a  second  daugh- 
ter when  he  had  hoped  for  a  son.  He  con- 
ceived a  terrible  hatred  for  my  mother.  He  left 
her,  and,  taking  me  with  him,  settled  in  Paris. 
Notwithstanding  every  effort  on  the  part  of 
friends  and  relatives  here  and  in  France,  he  re- 
fused to  go  back.  After  many  years,  however, 
179 


Children  of  Fate. 

his  heart  softened,  and  he  went  back  to  Castle 
Kointza-Gura,  but  the  one  he  sought  was  gone. 
My  mother  had  taken  her  private  funds  from  the 
bank  and  left  not  a  trace  as  to  her  whereabouts. 
No  one  thought  that  she  would  go  to  America. 

"My  father  was  stricken  with  remorse,  and  ere 
long  his  health  gave  away.  Before  his  death  he 
ordered  that  the  estate  should  be  divided  between 
myself  and  my  cousin,  who  was  to  hold  the 
property  in  trust  for  Wanda  and  her  heirs  for 
a  period  of  ten  years  after  his  death,  after  which 
it  was  to  be  held  by  my  uncle,  the  Count  de 
Pauli,  forever.  My  father  died  nine  years 
ago,  my  uncle  was  killed  in  the  revolution,  and 
Amanda,  his  daughter,  now  has  the  property. 

"But  all  this  is  not  to  the  point  of  that  which 
you  want  to  know.  Well,  when  I  was  sixteen 
years  of  age  I  was  married  to  Count  de  Lack.  He 
was  over  twenty  years  my  senior,  but  he  was 
kindness  itself.  The  country  was  in  the  throes  of 
conspiracy  and  revolution  at  the  time,  and  so  my 
husband  took  me  to  Paris  where  my  Waldeck 
was  born.  Meanwhile,  my  husband  was  called  to 
St.  Petersburg,  where  he  remained  for  nearly  two 
years. 

"The  Russian  Ambassador  to  the  Court  of 
France  visited  me  often  and  my  father  was 
charmed  with  his  wit  and  esprit.  Occasionally 
he  used  to  take  me  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  and  as  my  father  as  a  rule  accom- 
panied us,  there  was  no  cause  for  gossip. 

"However,  my  name  was  mentioned  within  the 
i8o 


The  Solution  of  a  Problem. 

Ambassador's  hearing;  a  duel  was  fought  and 
my  friend  was  killed.  My  father  was  grieved 
at  the  scandal  and  we  left  Paris  for  London. 
But  my  traducers  did  not  stop  at  the  murder 
of  the  Russian  Ambassador,  they  sent  anony- 
mous letters  to  the  Count  in  which  they  spoke 
of  my  accouchement  in  London.  He  returned 
to  Paris,  the  slanderer  was  traced  and  found, 
and  he  fell  in  the  duel  that  resulted.  He  was 
a  great  personage  and  had  persecuted  me  with 
his  attentions  for  a  long  time. 

"My  husband  had  perfect  faith  in  me  until 
this  sudden  recognition  of  a  resemblance  be- 
tween the  dear  child  and  myself.  But  God  is 
good,  is  he  not,  Howard?" 

"He  is  most  gracious,  and  here  comes  the 
sweet  innocent  who  has  caused  you  and  me  all 
this  trouble,"  said  Rosen,  as  Beatrice  entered. 

"How  did  I  cause  you  trouble,  papa  Howard 
Rosen  ?'^  she  asked. 

"By  being  the  niece  of  this  noble  lady  here 
without  letting  her  know,  and  leaving  me  in  the 
dark  about  the  matter,  too." 

Beatrice  raised  her  riding  whip. 

"When  little  children  do  not  behave  they  are 
punished,"  she  said  threateningly.  "What  sort 
of  joke  is  this,  Papa  Howard  Rosen?" 

"No  jest  at  all,  darling,  your  mother  was  the 
Countess'  sister,"  he  said  calmly  and  evidently 
enjoying  her  discomfort. 

But  the  Countess  would  not  have  him  tease 
her  any  longer. 

i8i 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Sweetheart,  your  papa  tells  the  truth,  he  has 
but  a  few  moments  ago  told  me  the  second  part 
of  my  own  family  history;  you  are  my  own 
niece,"  said  the  Countess  embracing  the  girl. 

But  the  intelligence  nearly  dazed  Beatrice. 

"Was  not  my  mother  a  Jewess,  papa  ?"  she  cried. 

"By  faith  but  not  by  birth.  Both  your  mother 
and  your  grandmother  took  the  Jewish  faith  a 
month  before  I  was  married." 

The  Countess  rose  to  go. 

"I  must  acquaint  the  Count  with  this  affair  and 
for  the  sake  of  the  rare  happiness  I  have  found  I 
shall  forget  what  I  have  suffered,"  she  said  as 
she  left  them. 

When  the  Count  heard  the  story  he  fell  on  his 
knees. 

"Can  you  forgive  me,  Martha  ?"f  he  cried. 
"Forgive  me,  if  you  can,  for  the  sake  of  the  dear 
girl." 

"I  felt  that  she  was  ours,"  sobbed  the  Countess. 

"And  she  shall  be.  Come,  dear,  let  us  go  to 
them,"  he  said. 

The  Count  and  the  Countess  went  to  Rosen's 
house  and  stayed  to  dinner,  which  became  a  sort 
of  informal  celebration  of  the  happy  event. 

The  news  that  Beatrice  Rosen  was  a  niece  of 
Countess  de  Lack  soon  spread  and  letters  of  con- 
gratulation came  from  all  sides,  but  the  mistress 
of  Wysiniaski  only  smiled.  Then  she  fell  on  her 
knees  before  the  little  shrine  in  her  boudoir  and 
prayed  with  eyes  aflame  that  God  might  speed 
Count  Radzin  on  his  errand  of  outrage. 
182 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  WOOING. 

"I  am  going  to  Warsaw  to  make  a  personal 
search  for  our  people  and  also  to  see  the  Ameri- 
can consul,  so  that  we  may  get  the  papers 
served  on  Baroness  Levanovska  for  the  posses- 
sion of  Wysiniaski  and  the  other  estate/'  said 
Mr.  Rosen  to  his  daughter. 

"But,  papa  dear,  I  have  no  desire  to  claim  any- 
thing; we  have  enough  without  them,  I  think," 
Beatrice  rejoined. 

"Quite  true,  my  dear ;  but  I  wish  to  establish 
your  mother's  rights  and  your  own  title.  Be- 
sides, it  will  not  be  a  bad  place  for  my  aunt  and 
her  son  to  live,  and  then  a  certain  young  lady 
might  go  there  occasionally — to  visit  her  aunt, 
of  course,"  he  said,  putting  his  finger  under  her 
chin. 

Beatrice  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"If  you  will  but  find  them,  papa,"  she  said. 

"I  may  succeed  where  others  have  failed." 

"When  do  you  leave?" 

"To-day,  so  get  ready  to  come  along.  Auntie 
Epstein  will  be  glad  to  see  you."' 

"I  shall  be  ready  in  an  hour." 

Beatrice  went  to  her  room  and  ordered  her 
things  to  be  packed,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  she 
was  seated  in  the  carriage  waiting  for  her 
father  to  join  her.     She  was  still  waiting  when 

183 


Children  of  Fate. 

her  father  appeared  and  told  her  to  start  with- 
out him,  as  he  had  just  received  a  despatch  that 
required  his  presence  in  town  for  at  least  two 
hours  longer.  He  would  not  let  her  wait  for 
him,  he  said,  as  he  had  telegraphed  to  Epstein 
and  they  would  meet  the  train  at  the  station.  He 
would  send  the  maid  with  her  as  far  as  Vlotzla- 
vek,  and  Jan  and  the  lackey  were  quite  enough 
to  take  care  of  them.  Beatrice  did  not  demur  at 
the  arrangement  and  soon  the  carriage  was  on 
it  way  to  Vlotzlavek. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  Rosen  had  re- 
ceived only  a  card  sent  by  Waldeck,  who  asked 
for  an  interview,  and  Rosen  was  eager  that  he 
should  not  meet  Beatrice.  Scarcely  ten  min- 
utes had  passed  since  Beatrice  had  gone  when 
Waldeck  rode  up  to  Rosen's  house;  he  was  in 
a  happy  mood  and  threw  a  handful  of  coins  to 
the  urchins  in  the  street.  "Let  all  the  world  be 
happy  for  I  am!  going  to  see  my  love,"  he 
hummed.  A  few  moments  later  he  grasped  the 
hand  of  Rosen. 

"I  came  to  salute  you  and  my  beautiful  cousin," 
he  said. 

"If  you  had  come  a  few  minutes  sooner  you 
would  have  found  her ;  she  has  gone  to  Vlotzla- 
vek and  thence  she  goes  to  Warsaw,"  said  Rosen. 

Waldeck  started,  but  recovering  himself  in- 
stantly seized  what  he  felt  was  almost  a  provi- 
dential chance.  Beatrice  was  gone  so  he  was  all 
the  freer  to  ask  her  father  for  her  hand. 


184 


The  Wooing. 

"I  love  Beatrice  and  would  ask  your  consent," 
he  said  simply. 

"You  ask  what  I  cannot  possibly  grant,"  said 
Rosen. 

*'What  objection  have  you?"  cried  Waldeck. 

"I  must  be  open  with  you,  Waldeck.  There 
is  a  chasm  between  us  which  even  our  relation- 
ship cannot  bridge,  and  that  is  the  difference  in 
religion." 

"Why,  that  is  nothing,  Beatrice  can  be  bap- 
tized before  we  get  married,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"If  you  knew  my  daughter's  character  you 
would  not  say  that,"  the  other  said  quietly.  "But 
you  have  not  told  me  whether  she  reciprocates 
your  feelings.    Have  you  spoken  to  her?" 

"I  have,"  said  Waldeck.  "But  while  she  did 
not  encourage  me,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  if  you 
permitted  me  to  pay  my  respects  to  her  I  might 
win  her." 

"It  would  be  in  vain,  for  my  daughter  loves 
another." 

"In  America?"  asked  Waldeck,  and  there  was 
a  ring  of  gladness  in  his  voice.  He  felt  that  he 
could  cope  with  an  American  rival.  In  his  mind 
rang  the  cynical  lines: 

Woman  doomed  to  constant  fretting 
For  a  lover  far  away, 
.    Falls  a  victim  to — forgetting 
When  another  comes  her  way. 

If  Rosen's  answer  was  what  he  hoped,  his 

i8S 


Children  of  Fate. 

mind  would  be  easy.  But  Rosen  was  silent  and 
each  moment  increased  Waldeck's  despair. 

"Do  you  mean,  sir,  to  shatter  all  my  hopes?" 
he  cried. 

"No;  but  I  cannot  discuss  this  question  at 
present.  My  daughter's  thoughts  are  centred  in 
her  cousin  and  his  mother.  It  is  possible  that 
when  she  comes  face  to  face  with  him  her  feeling 
will  prove  to  be  purely  sisterly.  Whatever  she 
then  decides  shall  be  done.  I  only  live  to  make 
her  happy.  She  is  grieving  because  we  have 
been  unable  to  find  our  relatives.  My  dear  boy," 
said  Rosen,  putting  his  hand  on  Waldeck's  shoul- 
der, "try  to  help  us.  Who  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen? But  you  see  clearly  that  her  mind  is  set 
upon  one  thing;  try  to  do  what  you  can  to  help 
us." 

"I  will  help  in  the  search,  uncle,"  said  Waldeck, 
taking  Rosen's  hand,  "and  I  shall  not  rest  until 
I  have  found  them." 

"God  bless  your  efforts,"  said  Rosen. 

Waldeck  bade  him  adieu  and  quickly  left  the 
room.  He  threw  himself  on  his  horse  and  rode 
rapidly  on  the  road  to  Plotzk.  He  needed  a 
good  ride  to  clear  his  brain  and  still  the  turbu- 
lence of  his  heart. 

As  he  skirted  the  forest  and  turned  to  the  road 
to  Vielga,  he  saw  two  men  with  carbines  over 
their  shoulders  and  a  third  leading  a  horse.  He 
thought  they  were  forest  guards  and  paid  no 
further  attention  to  them. 


i86 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  three  men  Waldeck  had  vSeen  were  two 
Tartars  and  Count  Radzin,  of  whom  it  would 
perhaps  be  incorrect  to  say  that  he  was  on  the 
Baroness*  mission.  He  was  in  fact  on  his  own 
mission.  He  wanted  the  Jewess,  and  although 
his  plans  were  not  fully  laid  as  to  what  he  would 
do  with  her,  he  intended  to  make  a  double  coup 
and  get  both  the  Baroness  and  Beatrice  into 
his  power.  He  and  his  menials  had  been  waiting 
for  hours  in  a  little  roadside  inn,  watching  the 
road  to  Castle  Lack,  when  at  last  a  peasant  came 
into  the  inn  and  asked  for  a  measure  of  vutki,  "a 
whole  measure,  nothing  less,"  he  cried. 

"As  I  love  God,"  cried  the  inn  keeper,  "it  is 
Gorshaleck  and  he  wants  a  whole  measure  of 
vutki,  and  has  the  money,  too.  By  the  Holy 
Mother  of  Tchenstochova,  Gorshaleck,  you  shall 
pay  first  for  the  measure  you  owe  or  at  least 
tell  me  how  you  came  by  all  this  good  money." 

Gorshaleck  appeared  unaffected  by  the  inn 
keeper^s  speech. 

"I  was  working  to-day  for  the  great  Pan 
Rosen  and  I  always  get  my  money  at  once.  I 
helped  Janushek  in  the  stables,  for  the  young  lady 
was  going  to  Plotzk,  and  as  Jan  drove  her  I 
went  home,"  the  peasant  replied. 

t87 


Children  of  Fate. 

"You  are  moving  in  fine  society,  Gorshaleclc, 
and  I  suppose  the  young  lady,  Panna  Rosen, 
told  you  that  she  was  going  to  Plotzk?"  said 
the  inn  keeper. 

"No,  I  asked  Jan,  and  he  said,  'maybe,  Gor- 
shaleck,  we  are  going  to  Plotzk',  is  not  that 
enough  ?'* 

Radzin  and  his  companions,  who  had  listened 
intently,  for  they  did  not  understand  much 
Polish,  learned  enough  to  know  that  Beatrice 
had  gone  to  Plotzk.  They  hastily  left  the  inn 
and  went  rapidly  toward  the  forest.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  road  they  made  careful  in- 
quiries and  to  their  chagrin  learned  that  neither 
sleigh  nor  carriage  had  passed  on  the  road  to 
Plotzk  that  day.  Radzin  was  furious.  He  and 
his  companions  retraced  their  steps  and  met  a 
Jewish  pedlar  on  his  way  to  Wysiniaski.  Of 
him  Radzin  asked  whether  the  Rosens  were  in 
the  town. 

"They  have  gone  to  Vlotzlavek,"  said  the  ped- 
lar. 

Radzin  cut  at  him  with  his  whip. 

"Tell  the  truth,  you  dog,''  he  cried. 

"I  am  telling  the  truth,  your  mighty  wor- 
ship," was  the  trembling  rejoinder. 

He  received  another  cut. 

"Stop  whining,  you  idiot.  How  long  are  they 
to  stay  away?"  he  asked  raising  his  whip  once 
more. 

"Only  one  day:  to-morrow  they  will  be  back. 
They  will  surely  be  back  to-morrow !" 
i88 


The  Reward. 

"Are  you'  telling  the  truth?"  cried  Radzin 
threateningly. 

"I  am,  I  am,  mighty  lord,  I  am/'  the  pedlar 
asseverated  with  fear  and  trembling. 

Radzin  took  a  handful  of  coins  and  threw  it 
at  the  man,  gave  him  a  kick,  and  told  him  to  go. 
The  poor  man  gathered  up  the  coins  as  fast  as  he 
could,  at  the  same  time  casting  furtive  glances 
at  his  tormentor,  and  then  ran.  But  the  Count 
must  have  his  extra  joke  at  the  Jew's  expense, 
and  taking  one  of  the  carbines  he  fired  it  into 
the  air.  The  pedlar  collapsed  as  if  shot,  amid 
shouts  of  laughter  from  Radzin  and  his  men, 
who  at  length  left  him  alone. 

The  Count  did  not  at  once  report  his  ill  suc- 
cess to  the  Baroness.  He  went  back  to  Plotzk ; 
and,  two  days  later,  mounted  upon  a  fine  horse 
he  had  bought  on  the  strength  of  his  prospec- 
tive good  fortune,  he  rode  into  the  grounds  of 
Castle  Wysiniaski. 

The  Baroness  received  him  without  any  par- 
ticular show  of  enthusiasm.  He  had  failed, 
that  was  all  she  knew,  and  all  she  cared  to  know. 
If  she  listened  to  his  fairy  stories  of  pursuits  and 
escapes,  it  was  onlv  to  torture  herself.  She 
wished  to  get  keyed  up  to  a  state  of  temper 
that  would  rob  her  of  thei  sense  of  responsibility. 
She  despised  this  low  Tartar  whom  she  knew 
to  be  after  her  money,  and,  much  as  she  hated 
Beatrice,  she  was  glad  that  she  had  escaped  and 
so  she  herself  had  no  need  to  keep  her  word  to 
Radzin,  and  she  told  him  so. 
189 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Ah,  my  little  dove,  you  are  mine  with  or 
without  the  conditions;  the  Jewess  will  not  es- 
cape ;  but  I  must  get  one  bird  at  a  time,"  he  said. 

The  Baroness  shuddered  at  the  thought  that 
she  would  have  to  yield  to  him ;  yield  to  a  man 
who  confessedly  did  not  love  her  and  in  her  very 
presence  was  planning  to  secure  "the  other  bird". 
If  looks  could  have  killed,  the  Count's  career 
would  have  been  cut  short  there  and  then. 

"You  may  have  better  luck  next  time,  and  if 
not  I  may  go  to  law  and  defeat  her  in  the  courts. 
I  am  in  possession  and  she  is  not,"  she  said. 

"And  I  am  in  possession  of  you,"  he  cried,  tak- 
ing her  in  his  arms. 

"Not  quite,"  she  said,  trying  to  disengage  her- 
self. 

"Yes  you  are,  fully  and  irredeemably.  I  hold 
you  and  no  power  on  earth  can  take  you  from 
me,"  he  cried,  crushing  her  to  his  breast,  and 
kissing  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  throat  in  the  mad- 
ness of  his  passion. 

She  ceased  to  struggle ;  a  shudder  ran  through 
her  body;  she  seemed  as  if  hypnotized  by  his 
brute  passion. 

"You  shall  be  mine — mine,"  he  cried. 

His  words  roused  her,  and  with  a  quick  move- 
ment -she  managed  tb  free  herself  from  Kis 
grasp. 

"You  pretend  to  love  me  honourably  and 
would  dishonour  me,"  she  said. 

His  eyes  gleamed ;  he  looked  at  her  wolfishly. 

"I  want  you ;  you  are  mine,"  he  cried. 
190 


The  Reward. 

"Not  yet,  and  I  warn  you  against  a  second  at- 
tempt," she  said,  moving  so  that  a  table  came 
between  them.  "If  I  do  not  call  the  servants  it 
is  on  your  account,  not  on  mine." 

"Yield,"  he  cried. 

"Never — you  will  gain  nothing  by  force," 
she  said. 

He  was  intelligent  enough  to  see  that  he 
could  never  hope  to  get  her  money  if  he  per- 
mitted his  passion  to  master  him. 

"I  was  a  fool.  Baroness;  I  did  wrong  and 
beg  you  to  forgive  me.  A  saint  would  have 
fallen  victim  to  your  matchless  charms.  I 
pledge  you  my  honour  that  I  will  do  nothing 
more  to  offend  you,"  he  said. 

If  she  was  not  deceived  by  his  pretended  con- 
trition, she  took  care  not  to  let  him  know  it. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  have  come  to  your  senses," 
she  said. 

"Will  you  forgive  me?"  he  asked.  ' 

"On  one  condition."  ' 

"Name  it." 

"That  you  return  at  once  to  Plotzk  and  that 
you  will  not  call  here  until  I  send  you  word." 

"You  have  named  two  conditions.  I  am  wil- 
ling to  comply  with  the  first  but  not  with  the 
second.  You  have  promised  yourself  to  me  and 
I  have  a  right  to  see  you." 

"Gentlemen  do  not  insist  on  suchi  rights ;  they 
look  upon  them  as  privileges  which  are  always 
granted.     But  I  want  time  to  think,  and  in  my 


lf>i 


Children  of  Fate. 

present  state  of  mind  I  can  think  of  nothing 
save  the  Jewess  and  her  outrageous  claim." 

"I  will  answer  for  the  Jewess,  I  swear  to 
you;  but  I  want  my  reward.  The  Jewess  can- 
not escape  me,"  he  said. 

The  Baroness  smiled.  He  had  been  stupid 
enough  to  tell  her  about  the  Jew  whom  he  had 
maltreated  on  the  road,  so  she  knew  that  Rosen 
would  be  warned.  The  events  of  the  past  few 
moments  also  convinced  her  that  it  was  infi- 
nitely better,  if  need  be,  to  lose  her  estates  to 
the  Jewess,  who  was  of  her  own  blood,  than  be 
ruined  by  this  monster  who  so  flagrantly  laid 
bare  his  purpose  of  getting  possession  of  her 
wealth.  There  even  came  into  her  mind  the 
possibility  of  an  amicable  arrangement  with  the 
Rosens ;  far  better  that,  than  to  be  associated  with 
a  Tartar  who  was  an  enemy  of  her  people. 

Radzin  misconstrued  her  smile  and  thought 
that  she  was  pleased  by  his  promise  to  "answer 
for  the  Jewess".  He,  therefore,  considered  the 
broken  bridge  mended,  his  assault  forgiven  and 
forgotten.  He  was  so  certain  that  he  was  going 
to  be  the  master  at  Castle  Wysiniaski  that  he 
grew  jovial.  '  •    '"^"^ 

"Well,  sweetheart,  if  I  must  go  into  exile  I 
shall  go  quickly  so  as  to  end  it  quickly ;  but  be- 
fore I  go  let  me  have  a  drink;  it  is  bitter  cold 
outside." 

"Certainly;  with  pleasure,"  she  said  and  rose. 

"Do  not  trouble,  I  beg  of  you.  The  last  time 
I  was  here  I  remember  you  regaled  me  with 
192 


The  Reward. 

Scotch  whiskey  which  you  kept  in  this  cup- 
board," he  said  and  turned  toward  a  massive  old 
cabinet. 

A  strange  look  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  Bar- 
oness. 

In  the  right  hand  portion  of  the  cabinet  stood 
a  number  of  bottles  that  contained  finely  dis- 
tilled opiates  which  Baron  Levanovski,  a  dilet- 
tante scientist,  had  prepared  for  experimenta- 
tion, only  to  fall  a  victim  to  their  dangerous 
power. 

Radzin  opened  this  cupboard  and  took  out  a 
bottle  filled  with  a  clear  yellow  liquid.  He 
poured  some  of  it  into  a  glass,  smelled  it,  and 
then  tossed  the  liquid  down  his  throat. 

The  Baroness  uttered  a  cry. 

Radzin  looked  at  her  and  smiled. 

"We  Russians  do  not  drink  whiskey  like 
women;  Hut  I  must  say  this  is  pretty  strong 
stuflF." 

The  Baroness  made  no  reply;  she  turned 
ghastly  pale ;  fate  was  avenging  the  bitter  shame 
to  which  the  Russian  had  put  her. 

But  the  opiate  appeared  to  have  no  effect  on 
his  iron  constitution. 

"I  am  obedient  to  your  will  and  shall  bid  you 
good-bye,"  he  said. 

He  walked  up  to  her  and  l>efore  she  could 
elude  him  he  had  her  again  in  his  arms. 

"You  will  kiss  me,  sweetheart,  before  I  go, 
will  you  not? 


193 


Children  of  Fate. 

"No ;  leave  me.  You  have  promised ;  go,"  she 
said. 

But  the  touch  of  her  rekindled  his  passion. 

"I  shall  not  go ;  you  are  mine  and  you  shall  be 
wholly  mine  before  I  go." 

"I  hate  you,"  she  cried,  struggling  in  vain  to 
free  herself. 

"You  do  not  hate  me,  only  you  want  to  be 
conquered  and  I  shall  conquer  you.  After  that 
you  will  be  mine  forever." 

His  kisses  burned  her  lips  and  made  her 
senses  swim.  Her  cries  for  help  maddened  him. 
He  caught  her  up  and  carried  her  to  the  lounge. 

"Joseph,  help!" 

The  cry  rang  through  the  immense  room. 
H)er  eyes  were  shut,  her  limbs  trembled. 

Suddenly  she  felt  his  hold  relax  and  as  she 
was  thrown  on  to  the  lounge  Radzin's  body  fell 
crashing  against  the  screen  and  the  plants  that 
were  between  the  lounge  and  the  table. 

She  opened  her  eyes ;  one  look  at  the  prostrate 
form  told  her  that  she  was  safe. 

In  a  moment  she  was  up  and  having  arranged 
her  dress  and  hair  she  rang  the  bell. 

"Call  Matcheck,"  she  commanded,  and  when 
the  coachman  had  entered  she  said, 

"Take  the  closed  carriage  and  drive  him  to 
the  inn.  Let  them  take  care  of  him  and  of  his 
horse.  When  you  get  back  arrange  the  high 
sleigh ;  I  shall  go  to  Plotzk  and  thence  to  War^ 


194 


The  Reward. 

Matcheck  took  the  big  man  like  a  sack  of 
wheat  upon  his  back  and  carried  him  out. 

"I  will  go  to  Warsaw,  but  you  shall  not  be 
warned,"  said  the  Baroness.  "You  who  would 
rob  me  of  all,  you  may  die,  we  may  both  die. 
But  if  I  see  you,  my  Joseph,  then  I  shall  ask  for 
nothing  more  on  earth.  To  be  near  you,  only  to 
be  near  you !" 


195 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  REVELATION. 

Baroness  Levanovska  awoke  unrefreshed,  and 
although  she  had  given  positive  orders  for  the 
journey  to  Warsaw,  felt  little  inclination  to 
travel.  She  was  so  wretched  that  she  felt  as  if 
she  could  abandon  herself  to  her  fate. 

Then  the  events  of  the  past  few  days — nay,  of 
the  past  few  years — were  marshaled  before  her 
mind's  eye  and  she  felt  a  new  determination. 

"I  will  not  give  up  without  a  struggle,"  she 
said  and  rang  for  her  maid. 

When  she  was  dressed,  she  opened  the  win- 
dow and  the  crisp  cold  air  rushing  in  revived 
and  calmed  her. 

It  was  a  beautiful  winter  morning,  clear  and 
bright,  but  bitterly  cold.  The  frost  glittered  in 
the  sunlight  like  millions  of  tiny  points ;  the  dry 
snow  crackled  under  the  tread  of  the  servants. 
As  she  gazed  at  the  scene  whose  contrast  seemed 
to  make  it  a  fit  setting  to  her  own  cruel  fate, 
a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob  escaped  her. 
She  closed  the  window.  Suddenly  her  eye  fell 
on  the  little  book  of  Heine's  poems.  Her  eyes 
lit  as  she  took  up  the  book,  and  as  she  opened 
it  where  a  marker  lay,  the  lines  that  met  her 
sight  seemed  to  stab  her  to  the  heart. 


196 


A  Revelation. 

*Die  holden  Wuensche  bluehen 

Und  welken  wieder  ab, 
Und  blueh'n  und  welken  wieder, 

So  geht  es  bis  ans  Grab/ 

"Ah,  Joseph,  when  you  read  these  lines  to  me 
1  liiought  only  of  you  and  pity  and  love  for  you 
filled  my  heart.  Now  I  know  what  it  is  to  see 
one's  wishes  bloom  and  wither  away.  Be  mer- 
ciful, Father  in  heaven.  I  am  a  weak  and  sin- 
ful woman,  but  by  his  side  I  would  be  good. 
Hear  my  prayer,  oh  God,  and  let  me  see  him 
again." 

And  as  she  thus  prayed  the  agitation  in  her 
mind  gradually  calmed  and  her  eyes  softened. 

"I  am  going  to  you,  Joseph,  I  shall  see  you, 
I  feel  it,"  she  whispered,  her  face  radiant  with 
love. 

An  hour  later  she  was  on  her  way  to  Plotzk. 
As  soon  as  she  reached  there  she  sent  a  despatch 
to  Rachel,  and  soon  afterwards  she  and  Rachel 
were  in  each  other's  arms. 

"What  a  sweet  surprise,  Amanda,"  Rachel 
cried.    "I  hope  you  have  come  for  a  long  stay." 

"I  cannot  tellJ  It  all  depends  on  circum- 
stances. How  do  you  spend  your  time,  Ra- 
chelka?" 

"Since  auntie's  death,  I  am  most  of  the  time 
in  the  hospitals.  If  it  were  not  that  this  activity 
gives  me  an  opportunity  of  doing  some  good,  I 
should  long  ago  have  retired  to  the  convent," 
said  Rachel. 

197 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Oh,  do  not  have  such  thoughts,  Rachelka. 
You  must  stay  in  the  world.  It  is  a  good  wt>rld, 
and  that  reminds  me  that  I  am  awfully  hungry," 
the  Baroness  said  with  a  laugh. 

They  were  soon  seated  at  table  and  after  the 
meal  the  Baroness,  being  very  tired,  went  to  her 
room.  The  next  morning,  fresh  from  her  toilet 
and  elegantly  dressed,  she  looked  so  beautiful 
that  Rachel  gazed  at  her  in  amazement. 

"There  is  nobody  like  you  in  all  the  world,  so 
beautiful,  so  beautiful,"  cried  Rachel. 

The  Baroness  kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

"You  must  not  say  such  things  or  you  will  be- 
witch me,"  she  said  with  a  laugh. 

Soon  the  steaming  samovar  was  on  the  table 
and  over  their  morning  tea  the  friends  conversed. 
Rachel's  mood  was  rather  sad,  but  the  Baroness 
spoke  bitterly  and  at  times  even  defiantly. 

"I  have  suffered;  but  God  is  gracious,  my 
work  compensates  me  for  everything,"  said 
Rachel. 

"For  all?"  cried  Amanda.  "There  are  suffer- 
ings which  cannot  be  forgotten  and  for  which 
nothing  in  the  world  can  compensate." 

"Do  not  say  that,  dear.  I  have  suffered  much, 
yet  I  have  found  peace  in  ministering  to  the 
wants  of  others.  I  think  love  and  sorrow  and 
suffering  purify  the  soul,"  said  Rachel. 

"Suffering  only  makes  me  harder,  more  re- 
bellious. Why  should  I  suffer?  Why  should 
I  be  meek  when  nature  has  given  me  pride? 
Why  should  I  forego  my  desires  when  I  have 
198 


A  Revelation. 

the  means  to  gratify  them  and  the  taste  to  appre- 
ciate what  is  beautiful  in  the  world?" 

"Amanda,  dear,  you  are  speaking  of  earthly 
things." 

"Anything  else  is  not  worth  speaking  of.  Peo- 
ple of  our  class  have  no  time  to  think  of  other 
things.  The  saints  arei  in  heaven,"  said  the 
Baroness,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"There  are  some  on  earth  too,"  said  Rachel. 

"Yourself,  for  example,"  the  Baroness  put  in. 

"No,  I  am  a  weak,  sinful  creature,  and  fate 
drove  me  to  a  line  of  work  which  I  hated.  I  did 
not  want  to  live  in  the  world.  The  little  work 
I  did  amongst  the  poor  gave  me  no  satisfaction, 
for  when  I  went  among  them  wearing  the  rich 
garments  that  my  position  forced  on  me,  I  felt 
that  I  made  hearts  envious  and  caused  them  to 
ask  God  why  I  should  be  rich  and  they  poor.  It 
was  natural  that  I  should  long  to  wear  a  garb 
that  would  be  a  symbol  of  simplicity  and  resig- 
nation. But  my  aunt  would  not  hear  of  it.  Then, 
too,  there  was  no  system  in  my  work  and  I  found 
afterward  but  little  satisfaction  in  it.  One  day 
I  met  a  man,  or  rather  an  angel  from  heaven,  and 
he  taught  me  to  work  so  as  to  gain  peace  and 
comfort " 

"And  whom  you  love,  of  course;  I  am  glad 
that  you  have  come  to  your  senses,"  said  the 
Baroness. 

"Amanda,  you  misunderstand  me,  because  you 
do  not  know  the  circumstances,"  Rachel  cried. 

"What  need  is  there  for  details?   The  quality 

199 


Children  of  Fate. 

of  the  sentiment  I  can  understand.  I  have  gone 
through  the  same  experience/' 

"You,  too,  my  dear?"  said  Rachel,  and  put 
her  arm  around  her  friend's  waist. 

"And  why  not,  pray?  Only  my  love  has 
left  a  sting,  a  painful  sting,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"We  can  not  fathom  the  mysteries  of  life.  Who 
can  say  why  God  sent  this  man  to  bless  my 
life?  What  would  this  world  be  without  such 
men?  Although  I  have  indeed  suffered  much,  I 
have  much  to  be  thankful  for.  Once  before, 
when  I  was  in  supreme  distress,  God  sent  me  a 
saviour,  and  now  I  have  found  one  who  might 
be  a  counterpart  of  the  other,  were  it  not  that 
this  one  is  so  wealthy  and  an  infinitely  finer 
man." 

"And  he  reciprocates  your  feelings,  of  course?" 
asked  the  Baroness,  who  had  turned  very  pale. 

"He  reciprocate!"  cried  Rachel,  "why,  he  has 
never  seen  my  face,  as  I  am  always  veiled  and 
have  never  spoken  a  word  to  him,  although  I 
have  often  been  tempted  to  ask  him  if  he  has 
relatives  in  Dobrzyn." 

The  Baroness  sprang  up  as  if  electrified  and 
grasping  Rachel's  hand  she  cried, 

"It  is  Joseph." 

Rachel  trembled  violently. 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  said.  "This  man  is  the 
nephew  of  the  famous  Professor  von  Horovitz." 

"It  is  he,"  cried  Amanda.  "He  disappeared 
from  Dobrzyn  shortly  after  you  had  gone  to 
Warsaw.  I  have  hunted  for  him  everywhere." 
200 


A  Revelation. 

"You!"  said  Rachel,  and  there  was  such  hor- 
ror in  her  eyes  that  the  other  would  have  shrank 
back  had  she  seen  it;  but  the  Baroness  was  too 
deeply  moved  to  notice  anything. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "this  Joseph,  in  whom  I  be- 
came interested  through  you,  saved  my  life  and 
later  my  soul.  And  now  I  want  to  see  him, 
Rachel,  I  must  see  him;  he  must  help  me;  he 
is  my  world,  my  all,  tell  me  where  he  is?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Rachel  took  Amanda's 
hand  and  led  her  to  her  own  room,  where,  over 
the  bed  and  facing  the  door,  hung  a  large  pic- 
ture of  a  thorn-crowned  Christ  and  by  its  side 
a  lifelike  portrait  of  Joseph  Rosen. 

At  the  sight  of  the  pictures  the  Baroness 
stretched  out  her  hands,  her  very  soul  going  out 
toward  the  image  of  her  beloved,  and  as  she 
breathed  his  name  she  sank  upon  her  knees. 

"Poor  Amanda,  fate  has  been  cruel  to  you — 
and — to  me.  Oh,  it  is  bitter  to  love  without 
hope.    God  pity  us,"  she  prayed. 

"I  do  not  want  pity,  I  want  love,"  cried  the 
Baroness,  springing  to  her  feet.  "Where  is  he? 
You  have  him.  You  love  him.  You  have  made 
his  picture.  Tell  me  where  he  is  ?  Why  should 
I  be  tortured?  Let  the  Jewess  have  the  es- 
tates, but  why  deny  me  this  one  request,  Lord 
God  in  heaven?  Joseph,  my  beloved,  if  you 
knew  what  I  have  suffered,  you  would  surely 
pity  me,"  she  said,  and  there  came  a  sweet  ten- 
derness into  her  voice. 


20I 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Poor  Amanda,  may  God  grant  your  wish," 
Rachel  rejoined  in  all  sincerity. 

The  Baroness  embraced  her. 

"Forgive  me,  Rachelka.  There  is  darkness 
in  my  soul ;  yours  is  filled  with  a  holy  light  and 
gives  you  peace.  But  in  my  heart  is  a  yearning 
that  robs  me  of  peace.  Tell  me  where  I  can  see 
him?"  ; 

"Where?" 

Love,  hope,  despair,  resignation  sounded  in 
that  one  word.  Rachel  was  very  pale  but  it 
was  with  the  pallor  of  peace,  of  absolute  self- 
denial.  The  Baroness  felt  keenly  for  her,  but 
could  find  no  words.  At  last  she  rose,  and, 
folding  her  hands,  stood  before  the  image  of 
Joseph  as  if  in  prayer. 

"Oh,  if  I  but  knew  what  to  do,"  she  said, 
turning  to  Rachel.  "Advise  me,  Rachelka,  what 
am  I  to  do." 

"I  do  not  know,  dear,  how  to  advise  you,  but 
my  own  future  is  plain.  I  will  tell  you  frankly 
that  I  never  loved  him  as  you  do.  In  him  I  only 
saw  my  master,  my  guide,  one  by  whose  example 
I  desired  to  live  and  prepare  my  soul  for  the 
future.  All  this  has  come  to  an  end  now.  It 
would  be  a  sin  for  me  to  stay  in  the  world.  I 
should  stand  in  your  way.  It  might  have  been 
beautiful  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  one  so  full 
of  grace,  but  I  shall  find  peace  in  prayer.  To- 
morrow our  paths  separate.  This  is  the  closing 
scene  of  my  life.     May  you  be  happy.     But, 


202 


A  Revelation. 

listen,  you  must  listen :  Joseph  is  destined  for  no 
woman." 

Standing  erect,  her  beautiful  face  pale  and 
drawn  with  emotion,  she  seemed  like  a  prophet- 
ess announcing  the  doom  of  an  earthly  existence. 
Her  words  sounded  like  a  death  knell  to  Amanda 
who,  uttering  a  heart-rending  cry,  sank  down 
upon  the  bed. 

Rachel  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  and  without 
a  word,  left  the  room. 


203 


CHAPTER  XL 

ON  THE  BRINK  OF  THE  GRAVa 

For  some  time  after  Rachel  had  gone,  the 
Baroness  remained  in  the  same  position,  her 
body  shaken  by  fitful  sobs.  Then  she  raised  her 
head  and  looked  around  the  room  in  a  bewild- 
ered manner.  Suddenly  her  glance  fell  on  the 
picture  of  Joseph,  and  she  sat  up.  Her  eyes 
cleared,  her  lips  slightly  parted,  as  she  gazed 
at  the  features  she  so  adored. 

"Why  did  you  come  into  my  life?"  she  mur- 
mured.   "I  was  happy  until  you  came." 

Suddenly  her  features  clouded. 

"But  why  did  you  come  ?  Why  ?  Why  ?  You, 
you !  Who  are  you,  for  whose  sake  I  am  so  tor- 
tured? What  are  you?  A  Jew!  One  of  those 
whom  our  nobles  rule  as  they  rule  their  serfs, 
their  dogs!  And  you  have  revenged  your  low- 
born kind  by  casting  a  spell  over  me.  I  will 
break  the  spell.  I  will  blot  you  out  of  existence," 
she  cried,  and  springing  from  the  bed  she 
snatched  a  chair,  leaped  upon  it,  and  tore  the  pic- 
ture from  the  wall. 

"I  will  crush  you,  I  will  shatter  your  image 
and  my  soul  will  be  free,"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
gleaming  and  her  bosom  heaving. 

She  raised  the  picture  to  dash  it  to  the  ground, 
when  the  fury  of  her  wild  emotion  suddenly  sub- 
204 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 

sided,  her  nervous  tension  relaxed,  and  the  hand 
holding  the  picture  sank  down  slowly. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  do  it,"  she  said.  "I  cannot  des- 
ecrate your  sweet  image,  my  dear  love,"  she  mur- 
mured, pressing  the  picture  to  her  breast.  "Alas, 
heaven  has  abandoned  me,  or  you  would  not 
turn  from  me ;  you  would  at  least  pi1[jr  me.  For- 
give me,  beloved.  How  could  I  be^ngry  with 
you  ?  How  dared  I  raise  my  hand  against  you  ? 
I  love  you,  I  love  you!  I  love  you  more  than 
life.  I  loved  you  when  you  were  poor  and  I  love 
you  now.  I  will  come  to  you  and  you  will  have 
pity  on  me,  my  dear  one,"  she  said,  looking  with 
streaming  eyes  at  the  pictured  face,  whose  eyes 
seemed  to  look  back  at  her  full  of  mercy  and 
love,  while  the  lips  seemed  to  say,  "Be  patient, 
Amanda,  I  will  not  forsake  you,  for  I  pity  all 
who  are  sad  and  sorrow  laden ;  thy  loving  heart 
shall  find  its  reward." 

As  she  gazed  at  the  likeness  peace  came  back 
to  her.     She  kissed  the  picture  again  and  again. 

"You  are  devoted  to  deeds  of  mercy;  so  shall 
I  be.  My  fortune  is  great  enough  to  help  many 
who  suffer  and  I  shall  spend  it  as  you  direct. 
Then  you  will  take  me  to  your  heart  even  as  I 
now  take  this  dear  image  of  your  sweet  self," 
she  said,  holding  the  picture  to  her  bosom. 
After  putting  the  picture  back  in  its  place,  she 
sprang  from  the  chair  and  arranging  her  dis- 
heveled hair,  went  to  the  sitting  room. 

Rachel,  seated  at  her  writing  desk,  looked  up 
in  surprise  at  Amanda's  happy  face.  "She  car- 
205 


Children  of  Fate. 

ries  lightly  her  burden  of  love  and  sorrow.  Those 
that  cry  loudest  do  not  always  feel  deepest,"  she 
said  to  herself. 

"Are  you  better,  dear  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  feel  much  better,  thank  you.  I  am  going 
out/'  said  the  Baroness. 

"If  you  can  wait  a  few  minutes,  dear,  I  shall 
go  with  you.  I  am  going  to  my  banker  and 
thence  if  you  will  to  the  hospital." 

"It  was  my  intention  to  go  straight  to  the 
hospital,"  said  the  Baroness,  "but  I  will  go  wher- 
ever you  like." 

"Thank  you,  dearest,  I  shall  be  ready  in  a 
few  minutes,"  said  Rachel. 

Amanda  walked  up  to  her,  and,  putting  her 
arms  round  her  neck,  asked. 

"Is  your  resolve  irrevocable?" 

"Quite." 

"Take  time  to  consider,  Rachelka  dear;  you 
can  do  a  great  deal  of  good  without  immuring 
yourself  within  convent  walls." 

"I  could  not  live  in  the  world  and  retain  the 
grace  of  God ;  I  am  only  a  woman." 

"Ah,  poor  dear,  life  puts  hardships  upon  us, 
but  then  we  ought  to  be  strong  enough  to  bear 
them  and  fight  under  the  burden." 

"I  cannot  fight,  I  have  borne  a  heavy  burden 
in  the  world,  now  I  prefer  to  bear  the  burden  of 
the  Cross ;  and — Amanda,  dear,  I  cannot  serve 
two  masters,"  Rachel  said.  "I  have  divided  my 
fortune  into  two  equal  parts;  one  goes  to  the 
Church,  and  the  other  toward  the  building  of  a 
206 


•  On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 

home  for  unfortunate  women.  They  need  a 
home  and  protection  when  the  heavy  hand  of 
fate  is  upon  them  and  man  despises  them." 

"You  are  a  saint,  Rachelka,"  said  the  Baroness, 
as  she  embraced  her  friend.  "I  cannot  match 
my  soul  with  yours.  I  am  worldly ;  I  want  love, 
I  want  happiness,  and  I  am  going  to  fight  for  it." 

"God  grant  that  you  be  victorious,"  said 
Rachel,  and  they  kissed  each  other. 

They  went  out.  From  the  bank  they  were 
driven  to  the  city  hospital.  They  walked  through 
the  various  wards  and  both  gave  lavishly  what 
help  they  could  toward  the  comfort  of  the  sick ; 
but  they  themselves  found  but  little  comfort,  for 
he  whom  they  sought  was  not  there  either  that 
day  or  the  day  following. 

The  Baroness  was  not  distressed,  however,  for 
she  knew  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  time. 

On  the  third  day,  just  as  Rachel  had  ordered 
the  carriage  and  while  the  Baroness  was  in  her 
room  getting  ready  to  go  out,  the  servant  an- 
nounced Count  Radzin. 

To  Rachel  the  name  implied  nothing,  and  as 
she  did  not  receive  visitors,  she  told  the  maid  to 
convey  her  regrets. 

The  maid  soon  reappeared  and  stated  that  the 
Count  desired  to  see  the  Baroness  Levanovska. 

"Bid  the  Count  enter  and  inform  the  Bar- 
oness," said  Rachel,  and  left  the  room. 

"Ask  the  Count's  name,"  said  the  Baroness, 
surprised  that  any  one  should  call  on  her  in  War- 
saw when  she  had  so  far  maintained  a  strict  in- 
207 


Children  of  Fate. 


cognito.  Before  she  could  get  a  reply  the  door 
opened  and  Count  Radzin  stood  in  the  entrance. 

Consternation  and  disgust  overcame  her.  The 
color  in  her  face  came  and  went.  Involuntarily 
she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

"Will  you  not  be  seated,  chere  Baronnef"  he 
asked. 

"Who  showed  you  in  here?"  she  cried. 

"A  discreet  maid  who  was  not  averse  to  ac- 
cepting five  roubles  to  show  me  the  way  to  the 
woman  who  is  soon  to  be  my  wife,"  he  said  with 
a  leer. 

The  Baroness  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  re- 
mark. At  length  she  mastered  herself  suffi- 
ciently to  cope  with  the  new  situation. 

"Let  us  go  into  the  reception  room,"  she  said. 

"I  prefer  to  stay  here,  we  shall  remain  undis- 
turbed," he  rejoined. 

"What  do  you  wish?" 

"Will  you  not  be  seated,  Mre  Baronne?"  he 
said. 

The  Baroness  sat  down:  she  was  as  one  in  a 
dream. 

"I  might  not  have  found  you  had  I  not  visited 
a  sick  soldier  in  the  hospital  and  got  a  glimpse 
of  you  through  the  window  as  you  entered  the 
carriage  with  your  friend,"  he  said. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  succeeded  in  finding  me ; 
now  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  what 
you  want  of  me?"  she  said. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I  have  carried 
out  my  part  of  our  compact  and  would  ask  you, 
208 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 

chere  Baronne,  to  carry  out  yours/'  he  answered. 

"I  have  not  the  least  idea  what  you  mean/' 
she  said,  Hghtly. 

"No?  Then  you  do  not  remember  suggesting 
the  abduction  of  the  Jewess?"  he  said. 

"Your  threats  have  no  effect  on  me,  sir.  If 
you  have  carried  off  the  Jewess,  keep  her,"  said 
the  Baroness. 

This  bold  move  on  her  part  staggered  him 
considerably.  But  he  was  a  Russian.  He  had 
not  come  to  parley,  but  to  punish  her.  She  had 
insulted  him.  She  had  caused  him  to  be 
laughed  at  by  her  servants  who,  he  knew,  had 
carried  him  to  the  inn.  He  had  not  slept  for 
twenty-four  hours,  as  the  Baroness  thought  he 
would,  but  a  little  over  sixteen  hours.  When  he 
awoke  and  found  himself  in  the  inn,  he  crossed 
himself,  thinking  he  was  in  a  dream.  But  the 
smell  of  sauerkraut  and  the  loud  talk  of  the  inn 
keeper  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  he  was 
awake  and  that  he  was  in  the  filthy  inn  and  on 
the  filthy  peasant  bed.  He  sprang  up  and  taking 
an  old  chair  sent  it  crashing  through  the  window. 

The  inn  keeper  rushed  out,  saw  the  damage, 
and  went  toward  the  room  where  the  Count  was. 

"Come  in  here,  you  rogue,"  cried  the  Count. 

"I  am  your  lordship's  servant  and  will  cut  off 
my  head  for  your  lordship  if  it  can  be  of  serv- 
ice." said  the  trembling  inn  keeper. 

"You  shall  tell  me  the  truth  and  nothing  will 
happen  to  you ;  but  remember,  you  rogue,  the 
truth,"  said  the  Count. 

209 


Children  of  Fate. 

"As  I  love  the  blood  of  Christ,  I  will  tell  the 
truth,  my  lord,  only  ask,  my  lord." 

"How  did  I  come  here?" 

"You  were  brought  here  in  a  carriage  by 
Matcheck  and  the  young  lackey  Grizek,  who 
waits  on  her  ladyship  the  Baroness  Levanovska." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"Near  sundown,  my  lord." 

"And  my  horse?" 

"Is  in  my  stable,  warm  and  well  fed.  I  at- 
tended to  him  like  a  baby." 

"It  is  well;  brush  him  down,  saddle  him  and 
bring  him  around,"  he  said,  giving  the  inn  keeper 
a  handful  of  coins. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  riding  at  break- 
neck speed  toward  Wysiniaski,  and  arrived  there 
only  to  learn  that  the  Baroness  had  that  morn- 
ing gone  to  Warsaw. 

He  turned  at  once  and  rode  to  Plotzk.  Hav- 
ing asked  the  Governor  for  permission  to  go  to 
Warsaw,  he  set  out  at  once  with  his  two  Tar- 
tars and  they,  keener  than  bloodhounds,  reported 
to  him  within  two  hours  of  his  arrival  that  the 
Baroness  was  not  in  any  of  the  hotels. 

It  was  by  the  merest  accident  that  he  had  seen 
the  Baroness.  One  of  his  Tartars  having  got 
into  a  brawl  with  some  labourers,  was  badly  cut 
and  taken  to  the  hospital,  and  he  had  gone  to  see 
him.  But  for  the  fact  that  he  was  in  the  opera- 
ting room,  he  and  the  Baroness  might  have  met 
face  to  face  in  the  hospital. 

The  bold  stand  she  took  with  him  now  shook 
2IO 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 

his  resolve  for  a  moment.  When  he  left  Plotzk 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do  and  it  was 
not  his  intention  to  deviate  from  this  plan. 

"I  did  not  come  here  to  threaten  you,  I  came 
to  punish  you,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,"  she  laughed,  "and  I  suppose 
you  have  your  little  punishment  ready  to  mete 
out.  May  I  know  what  form  your  wrath  will 
take?" 

"We  shall  first  get  married  before  a  magistrate, 
then  we  shall  see ;  I  may  flog  you  or  I  may  have 
you  sent  to  Siberia,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with 
his  deep,  black  eyes  in  a  manner  that  made  her 
believe  he  would  do  it  if  he  could.  But  she 
was  not  afraid  of  this  Tartar;  her  family  was 
powerful,  and  she  could  defy  him. 

"Is  that  all,  your  lordship  ?"  she  asked. 

"Perhaps  not;  first  you  shall  amuse  me,"  he 
replied. 

"Enough,  sir,"  cried  the  Baroness.  "You  shall 
answer  for  this  to  the  Count  de  Lack,  who  will 
have  you  chastised  as  you  deserve.  Now  leave 
me. 

"And  shall  I  go  back  to  the  inn  where  you 
had  me  taken  after  you  drugged  me?"  he  asked. 

"You  must  be  dreaming!  I  drugged  you? 
That  is  another  fairy  tale  like  that  of  the  abduc- 
tion of  the  Jewess,  who  is  in  Warsaw,"  she 
said. 

"Then  you  knew  that  she  was  here  and  you 
concocted  a  scheme  to  fool  me  and  then  drugged 
me  to  complete  your  work.     Confess  that  you 

211 


Children  of  Fate. 

drugged  me,"  he  cried,  springing  at  her  and  put- 
ting his  heavy  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

For  a  moment  she  was  too  much  startled  to 
speak,  then  she  made  a  quick  movement  and 
freeing  herself  from  his  grasp,  seized  the  bell 
rope. 

''Leave  the  room  instantly  or  I  will  call  the 
servants,"  she  said. 

"Your  servants  would  be  cut  down  by  my 
Tartars  who  are  in  the  hall  and  only  await  my 
signal,''  he  said. 

This  bow  drawn  at  a  venture  was  success- 
ful in  frightening  her.  She  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  bringing  ruin  upon  Rachel,  for  she 
knew  what  these  wolves  were  who  for  years  had 
their  fangs  in  the  flesh  of  the  Poles  and  to  whom 
nothing  was  sacred. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  she  asked,  un- 
able to  keep  the  tears  from  her  eyes  now  that 
she  was  at  the  mercy  of  this  savage. 

"I  want  you  to  go  through  the  mock  cere- 
mony of  a  marriage  so  that  I  can  have  your  for- 
tune and  revenge  myself  on  you,"  he  said  grin- 
ning savagely. 

"Will  nothing  buy  me  my  freedom  ?" 

"Nothing." 

"Then  give  me  time  to  think,  at  least." 

"Not  a  minute;  you  must  decide  now." 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  as  she  glanced  through 
the  window  saw  Rachel  stepping  into  her  car- 
riage.    Her  expression  changed. 

"I  have  decided,"  she  said. 

212 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"That  I  would  rather  die  than  be  the  wife  of 
a  Russian  brute.  The  servants  may  take  care 
of  themselves,  but  I  will  call  them,"  she  said,  and 
gave  a  strong  pull  at  the  bell. 

"Then  die!"  he  cried,  and  quick  as  a  flash 
drew  a  revolver  and  fired  at  her. 

She  uttered  a  cry  and  fell.  As  she  fell  he  fired 
another  shot  at  her,  and  then  put  the  pistol  to 
his  own  forehead  and  fired. 

The  shots  brought  all  the  servants  to  the 
room,  and  the  shrieks  of  Anna,  the  Baroness' 
maid,  caused  a  crowd  of  people  to  gather  in 
front  of  the  house.  Soon  the  police  made  their 
way  to  the  room,  and  one  of  the  officers  exam- 
ined the  contents  of  the  Count's  pockets  to  as- 
certain the  identity  of  the  man,  who  was  quite 
dead. 

Meanwhile  Rachel,  to  whom  the  servants  had 
carried  the  news  of  the  tragedy,  summoned  doc- 
tors, and  simultaneously  with  their  arrival  came 
a  military  escort ;  the  dead  Count  was  taken  away, 
and  the  chief  officer  took  down  an  ante-mortem 
statement  of  the  Baroness,  who  was  still  con- 
scious. 

Only  one  shot  had  taken  effect,  but  the  bullet 
had  passed  through  her  body  and  was  found 
imbedded  in  the  wall.  The  doctors  made  a  care- 
ful examination  and  decided  that  she  had  but  a 
short  time  to  live  as  they  feared  internal  hem- 
orrhage.   At  the  suggestion  that  a  priest  should 


213 


Children  of  Fate. 

be  sent  for  to  administer  the  last  sacrament,  the 
Baroness  shook  her  head. 

"Do  you  not  desire  it  ?"  asked  Rachel,  her  eyes 
streaming  with  tears. 

"Call  him,"  she  breathed. 

"I  will  at  once,  dearest,"  Rachel  replied,  and 
bespeaking  the  utmost  care  fori  her  stricken 
friend,  she  left  the  room  and  soon  the  house. 

She  did  not  know  whither  to  direct  her  steps. 
For  a  moment  she  thought  of  going  to  the  Pro- 
fessor's house ;  then  she  remembered  that  Joseph 
might  be  at  the  city  hospital,  so  she  went  there. 
On  her  way  she  recalled  what  Amanda  had 
said  about  Joseph  Rosen's  disappearance  from 
Dobrzyn  and  her  conviction  that  this  Joseph 
and  the  other  were  identical.  But  why  should 
he  change  his  name?  How  did  he  come  to  be 
so  wealthy?  She  was  sadly  perplexed  when 
suddenly  she  heard  a  voice  say: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Rachel,  is  it  really  you?" 

She  looked  up  and  before  her  stood  Joseph, 
whose  voice  convinced  her  beyond  a  doubt  that 
it  was  Joseph  Rosen. 

"Thank  God!  I  was  on  my  way  to  find  you 
and  to  beg  you  to  come  and  see  my  friend,  the 
Baroness  Levanovska,  who  was  to-day  shot  and 
mortally  wounded." 

Joseph  started ;  the  awful  news  terrified  him. 

"The  Baroness  here  and  mortally  wounded? 
How  did  it  happen  ?"  he  asked. 

"She  was  shot  by  a  Count  Radzin,  who,  so 
the  servant  told  me,  has  been  a  persistent  suitor 
214 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Geiave. 

of  hers.  But  she  did  not  love  him  and  came  to 
Warsaw  to — to — well,  she  loved  another.  I 
learned  it  by  accident  and  at  the  same  time  I 
learned  of  your  identity.  I  did  not  know  that 
you  were  the  same  Joseph  that  I  used  to  know." 

"I  am  the  same.  Are  you,  Rachel  ?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  her  with  eyes  that  were  full  of  kind- 
ness. 

"I  have  tried  to  be  as  good  as  a  weak  human 
being  can  be  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"I  have  never  seen  you  among  those  I  serve  on 
the  lower  Nalevki  and  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
Vistula,  but  then  you  may  have  your  own  cir- 
cle where  you  work,"  he  said  kindly. 

"You  have  seen  me  often,  as  I  have  seen  you ; 
perhaps  you  would  not  have  recognized  me  to- 
day had  I  been  veiled  as  usual,"  she  said,  her 
face  flushing  a  deep  red. 

"Ah,  then  you  are  the  veiled  lady !  God  bless 
you.  It  is  well.  But  the  Baroness?  You  have, 
of  course,  good  surgeons.  What  good  can  I 
do?  She  needs  the  priest  nowi,  and  absolute 
quiet,"  he  said. 

"She  loves  you,  Joseph,  she  loves  you;  come 
and  ease  her  last  moments.'* 

Rachel's  words  amazed  him.  The  Baroness 
loved  him  and  had  told  Rachel.  Then  that  scene 
at  the  Castle  was  not  a  momentary  caprice,  and 
she  had  nursed  this  love  for  many  years,  and  he 
who  had  been  scorched  as  by  a  blast,  had  tried  to 
live  down  this  pain  and  this  longing,  had  never 
even  thought  of  the  possibility  that  she  remem- 

215 


Children  of  Fate. 

bered  him.  And  when  he  had  reached  a  station 
in  Hfe  that  made  him  almost  her  equal  he  still 
forebore.  He  considered  himself  an  emancipated 
slave,  that  was  all.  Now  that  she  was  dying  a 
voice  said  to  him,  "she  loves  you".  She  was  not 
ashamed  to  love  him.  It  seemed  hard  and  cruel, 
and  for  a  moment  his  soul  rebelled.  Then  he 
mastered  himself  and,  putting  his  hand  on 
Rachel's  arm,  said, 

"Come,  God  will  be  merciful." 

The  doctors  who  were  in  the  room  when 
Joseph  entered  saluted  him  cordially. 

"How  is  the  patient?"  he  asked. 

"The  end  is  near;  nothing  can  be  done,"  one 
of  them  replied. 

"I  crave  your  pardon,  gentlemen,  when  the 
end  is  only  near  and  has  not  come  something 
may  always  be  done, — even  a  miracle,"  he  said, 
and  went  into  the  sick  room. 

Unable  to  speak,  Joseph  looked  at  the  Bar- 
oness with  his  great  tender  eyes.  She  under- 
stood him  as  completely  as  if  he  had  spoken. 

"Joseph,  beloved,  do  not  let  me  die ;  not  now, 
not  now;  save  me."  Her  accents  were  scarcely 
audible,  but  he  heard  them  as  clearly  as  if  every 
word  were  a  stroke  of  a  great  bell. 

He  bent  down  to  kiss  her  hand,  but  before 
he  could  say  a  word  she,  with  a  supreme  ef- 
fort, threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  their 
lips  met. 

As  Joseph  raised  himself  great  tears  fell  from 
his  eyes.     His  face  flushed,  and  falling  on  one 

2l6 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Grave. 

knee  he  kissed  her  hand  again  and  again.  Then 
he  rose  and,  putting  her  hand  on  the  bed,  said, 

"Be  brave,  my  friend,  and  patient.  God  will 
not  forsake  you." 

"Do  not  permit  them  to  give  me  the  sacrament ; 
I  shall  die  if  they  do.  Oh,  save  me,  beloved, 
save  me,"  she  breathed.    "I  do  not  want  to  die." 

"You  will  not  die,"  he  said. 

At  this  the  nurses  shook  their  heads,  for  they 
knew  there  was  no  hope. 

Joseph  begged  Rachel  to  call  in  the  doctors 
and  suggested  to  them  an  operation.  They 
looked  amazed.  But  he  repeated  his  suggestion ; 
the  injury  being  intestinal  he  thought  an  opera- 
tion would  save  her  life. 

"We  thought  of  that,  but  decided  that  it  was 
impossible;  we  feared  she  would  not  survive  the 
shock,"  said  one  of  the  surgeons. 

"She  will  survive  the  shock,  gentlemen;  fear 
nothing,"  said  Joseph. 

The  earnestness  of  his  words  impressed  the 
doctors.  They  held  a  whispered  consultation. 
At  length  they  agreed  to  operate  on  the  patient 
and  forthwith  proceeded  to  make  the  necessary 
arrangemients.  The  Baroness,  who  still  held 
Joseph's  hand,  begged  him  to  stay  and  not  for- 
sake her.  He  felt  sorely  tried  for  he  had  not  the 
heart  to  witness  the  operation.  Bending  down  he 
whispered, 

"Be  brave,  my  friend,  I  shall  pray  for  you  and 
God  will  be  merciful." 

"God  bless  you,"  she  breathed  with  a  happy 

«i7 


Children  o^  Fate. 

smile.  A  few  minutes  later  she  was  under  the 
influence  of  the  anaesthetic  and  under  the  knife 
of  the  surgeon. 

For  weeks  afterwards  her  life  hung  on  a  very 
slender  thread;  constant  care,  however,  worked 
the  miracle  that  had  seemed  necessary  for  her 
recovery.  After  three  months  she  was  able  to  sit 
up  for  a  few  moments  at  a  time. 

About  the  middle  of  April  it  was  evident  that 
she  would  get  quite  well,  provided,  so  the  doc- 
tors said,  she  would  go  to  Switzerland  or  to 
the  south  of  France.  But  she  would  not  hear  of 
it,  despite  the  fact  that  she  had  received  official 
notice  that  Beatrice  Rosen,  titular  Countess  da 
Paula  had  relinquished  her  claims  to  the  es- 
tates left  her  by  her  grandfather,  the  Count  de 
Pauli.  She  refused  at  first  to  leave  the  city 
where  Joseph  lived. 

But  if  she  rebelled  against  the  commands  of 
the  physicians,  she  yielded  to  the  arguments  of 
Rachel  and  to  the  least  word  uttered  by  Joseph. 

*'You  once  told  me,  Amanda,'*  said  Rachel, 
"that  one  must  be  strong  to  work,  and  I  was 
trying  to  run  away  from  myself  then ;  now  you 
are  entering  a  new  life  in  which  you  wish  to  keep 
up  the  battle  for  your  love.  It  is  certainly  neces- 
sary that  you  should  get  strong.'* 

"Do  you  think  he  will  ever  love  me?"  sighed 
the  Baroness. 

"I  cannot  tell;  but  his  delicacy  of  manner  is 
so  rare  that  he  must  have  the  kindest  feelings  for 
you.  During  your  illness  he  sent  the  choicest 
218 


On  THE  Brink  OF  THE  Grave. 

flowers;  not  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  come 
and  inquire,  often  twice  a  day.  I  know  that  it  is 
his  earnest  wish  that  you  should  go  to  Switzer- 
land," said  Rachel. 

"Will  you  go  with  me?"  asked  the  Baroness. 

"My  dear  Amanda,  my  days  in  the  outer 
world  are  numbered.  As  soon  as  you  leave  I 
shall  take  the  veil,"  said  Rachel. 

"Does  he  know  it?" 

"He  does,  and  though  he  does  not  quite  ap- 
prove of  it,  he  does  not  forbid,"  said  Rachel. 

That  afternoon  came  a  note  from  Joseph,  also 
a  letter  from  the  de  Lacks,  inviting  Amanda  to 
go  with  them  to  Switzerland. 

"My  Dear  Friend  (Joseph  wrote), 

"I  cannot  leave  Warsaw  without  a  word  to 
you  regarding  your  health,  which  is  precious 
to  me.  I  firmly  believe  that  you  ought  to  go  to  a 
more  congenial  climate  than  ours.  Go  to  the 
pure  air  of  Switzerland,  as  the  doctors  suggest. 
I  am  going  to  Bialestock,  where  an  epidemic  of 
cholera  has  broken  out.  I  desire  to  study  the 
subject  carefully  and  prepare  myself  for  an 
emergency.  I  cannot  tell  how  long  I  shall  stay  in 
the  infected  district.  Meanwhile  I  beg  of  you 
to  leave  Poland  at  once.  I  hope  to  see  you  in 
the  near  future  and  to  find  you  strong  in  body 
and  in  soul.  That  God's  blessing  may  go  with 
vou  is  the  earnest  wish  of 

Joseph  Rosbn-Horovitz." 

2ig 


Children  of  Fate. 

Amanda  pressed  the  note  to  her  heart,  and 
kissed  it  again  and  again. 

"I  shall  do  your  bidding,  Joseph.  It  may  be 
that  God  will  have  mercy  on  my  poor  heart," 
she  said. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  the  Baroness  joined 
the  Count  and  Countess  de  Lack  at  the  city  of 
Thorn,  whence  they  started  for  Switzerland.  A 
few  days  later  Rachel  took  the  veil  and  entered 
the  convent  of  the  Carmelites. 

END  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK. 


220 


*'Es  Ziehen  die  hrausenden  Wellen 

Wohl  nach  dem  Strand ; 
Sie  schwellen  und  zerschellen 

Wohl  auf  dem  Sand.'' 

(Heine.) 

**See,  my  love,  the  stars  are  beaming 

Passion's  fire  in  ev'ry  ray 
And  each  star  is  fondly  dreaming 

Of  a  star-love  far  away." 

(Datuiger*) 


BOOK  THIRD. 
CHAPTER  I. 

JEAN    MERAU,    ARTIST. 

Professor  Daniel  von  Horovitz  was  reading 
the  "Daily  Courier"  when  a  loud  voice  suddenly 
disturbed  him.  He  knew  the  voice  and  the 
person,  and  he  loved  both. 

"Dear  Jean,"  he  murmured,  "obstreperous  as 
ever." 

Meanwhile  this  "dear  Jean"  continued  to  ex- 
plode and  rage  at  the  supposed  culpability  of 
Vladislav,  the  Professor's  body  servant,  who  evi- 
dently knew  his  man,  for  he  grinned  and  an- 
swered with  a  semi-submissive  "Yes,  sir". 

"Ye  gods,  what  does  this  mean,  Vladislav,  to 
leave  your  master  indoors  when  he  ought  to  be 
in  the  Lazienki  Park?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  will  cut  off  your  ears  if  it  happens  again." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Here,  take  off  my  overcoat." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Now  can't  you  get  me  off  with  my  coat  faster 
than  that,  or  shall  I  help  you?" 

"Yes,  sir — no,  sir." 

"See  here,  I  will  skin  you  alive,"  he  cried,  and 
both  laughed. 

22^ 


Children  of  Fate. 

"I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon,"  said  Vladislav 
and  took  off  the  guest's  overshoes,  but  too  slowly, 
apparently,  for  that  person's  patience,  for  he 
again  gave  vent  to  a  loud  and  voluble  protest. 

The  Professor  laid  down  his  paper,  went  to 
the  door  and  threw  it  wide  open. 

"Well,  Jean,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said. 

"Glad  to  see  Jean  Merau,  are  you?  And  I 
suppose  you  want  Jean  Merau  to  believe  it,"  he 
cried,  grasping  the  Professor's  hand.  "Your  lit- 
tle Jean  is  an  infidel  in  these  matters.  If  you 
were  glad  to  see  him  you  would  not  hide  yourself 
like  a  beaver  in  his  hole  and  lie  low  until  little 
Jean  came  to  smoke  you  out." 

"Take  a  cigar,  that  will  calm  your  temper  and 
then  we  shall  see,"  said  the  Professor. 

"The  devil  take  it,  but  I  know  you,  papa  Dan- 
iel ;  if  I  sit  down  and  smoke  one  of  your  weeds, 
which,  by  the  gods,  are  not  half  bad,  I  shall  be  a 
prisoner  here  the  rest  of  the  forenoon  and  then — 
good-bye  sunshine,  good-bye  flowers  and  beauty 
for  the  rest  of  this  fine  day,"  he  said,  taking  the 
proffered  cigar  and  throwing  his  gigantic  body 
into  a  large  arm-chair. 

"I  can  promise  you  that  we  shall  go  out  or 
rather  drive  out,  for  as  you  have  seen  fit  to  put 
on  overshoes  it  is  apparently  not  good  walking," 
said  the  Professor. 

"It  IS  beastly  walking.     The  month  of  May 

means  the  transition  period  of  the  heaven-given 

snow  into  unpoetic  mud ;  but  the  sun  is  fine  and 

the  Lazienki  has  a  few  spots  fit  for  human  beings 

224 


Jean  Merau,  Artist. 

to  breathe  in,  to  see  and  to  be  seen,"  said  Merau. 

"I  see  by  LE  MATIN  that  your  picture  got  the 
prize  in  the  Salon,*'  said  the  Professor. 

"I  do  not  feel  very  proud  of  that  prize.  What 
is  a  landscape?  Nothing!  What  is  a  tower? 
Nothing !  An  honest  man  does  not  value  a  prize 
if  he  thinks  his  work  does  not  deserve  it." 

"Why,  little  Jean,  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you 
talk  that  way.  If  I  remember  correctly  you  were 
very  enthusiastic  about  this  particular  picture," 
the  Professor  remarked. 

"Stuff!  I  was  a  fool.  I  was  enthusiastic  be- 
cause there  was  a  woman  in  the  case.  I  wanted 
to  please  her;  she  was  a  pretty  creature  that 
heated  my  fancy  and  made  the  months  I  spent 
in  the  little  town  pleasant.  She  tortured  me  with 
her  love  and  her  jealousies,  and  her  husband  tor- 
tured me  with  his  jealousy  and  his  bad  food,  for 
he  was  chef  and  hotelier  in  one ;  still  I  did  some 
fine  sketching." 

"And  did  not  the  hotelier  make  an  attempt  to 
poison  you?"  asked  the  Professor.  "It  would 
have  given  color  to  the  romance,"  he  added. 

"He  tried  hard  enough  to  poison  me  with 
pretty  bad  wine,  but  I  managed  to  have  the  mad- 
ame  lead  the  way  to  the  old  cellar,  and  there, 
ye  gods,  what  wine  worshippers  these  French 
are !  The  bottles  reposed  in  their  dusty  little  cof- 
fins like  antediluvian  babies.  Well,  I  managed 
to  counteract  the  poison,  but  in  lucid  moments  I 
was  thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  my  work.  I 
wanted  a  human  being  for  my  canvas  and  tried 
225 


Children  of  Fate. 

to  paint  several  of  the  people  with  whom  I  came 
in  daily  contact.  But  there  was  not  a  mother's 
son  of  them  that  could  inspire  one's  art.  What 
else  could  I  do  but  make  love  to  my  landlady  or 
to  a  pretty  seamstress,  and  devote  the  balance  of 
my  time  to  the  painting  of  dead  things?'* 

"The  gods  were  at  least  gracious  to  you  in 
matters  of  love,  and  that  is  a  gain  in  this  cold  and 
prosaic  world,"  said  the  Professor  with  a  Smile. 
"But  confess,  little  Jean,  this  is  a  fortune  or  mis- 
fortune which  one  like  you  might  bear  with  equa- 
nimity, so  long  as  he  could  turn  out  work  such 
as  you  have  turned  out  in  that  tower  picture." 

"Hush,  Daniel,  do  not  remind  me  of  that  pic- 
ture. I  tell  you  I  was  never  satisfied  with  it, 
and  on  the  day  it  was  finished  I  drank  two  bot- 
tles of  Vouvray,  a  bottle  of  Vermouth,  and  to- 
gether with  the  petit  justice  (as  they  called  my 
drinking  companion),  we  emptied  several  bot- 
tles of  good  rich  Burgundy  and  a  quantity  of 
champagne.  I  remember  the  incident  clearly 
because  I  took  offense  at  something  or  other,  and 
then  let  fly  at  the  hotelier  and  evervbody  in  gen- 
eral, so  that  I  had  a  good  sized  bill  to  pay,  and 
all  on  account  of  that  damned  landscape,"  said 
Merau,  puffing  away  at  his  cigar. 

"Was  it  really  the  landscape  or  was  it  the  wo- 
man?" asked  the  Professor. 

"Perhaps  it  was  the  woman.  But  I  did  not 
come  here  to  talk  all  this  nonsense." 

"Well,  what  is  it?  Speak  out,  little  Jean." 

226 


Jean  Merau,  Artist. 

"I  came  to  tell  you  that  my  life  is  a  failure," 
said  the  artist. 

"Take  another  cigar,  little  Jean.  I  hope  you 
don't  let  matters  of  finance  trouble  you.  You 
may  sign  my  cheque  any  time  you  desire." 

"The  devil  take  your  cheque,  I>aniel;  I  have 
more  money  than  I  can  hope  to  spend ;  but  I  am 
a  failure  as  an  artist." 

The  Professor  rose  and  felt  his  friend's  pulse, 
then  he  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"No,  it  is  not  that,"  he  said.  "Stick  out  your 
tongue,  little  Jean,  maybe  your  stomach  is  out 
of  order." 

"Do  not  be  hocus-pocussing  about  my  diges- 
tion ;  it  is  all  right.  And  what  I  said  is  the  truth," 
said  the  artist  earnestly. 

"Then  what  is  it,  Jean?  Out  with  it.  If  you 
cannot  talk  plainly  to  your  best  friend,  leave  me 
to  my  papers  and  go  to  the  Lazienki,"  the  Profes- 
sor said  curtly ;  but  there  was  a  gleam  in  his  eyes 
that  told  how  he  loved  the  giant  and  wanted  to 
help  him. 

"Well,  Daniel,  I  want  to  paint  Joseph  as  the 
Christ.  It  has  become  a  passion  with  me  and  I 
wish  your  help,"  the  artist  pleaded. 

"My  dear  Jean,  you  have  touched  a  subject 
that  is  beyond  me.  I  cannot  help  you,  for  I  have 
not  the  heart  to  request  anything  that  might  be 
repugnant  to  him." 

"I  know ;  I  am  just  as  big  a  coward.    I  asked 
him  once  and  he  looked  at  me,  and  I  never  asked 
again.    Where  is  he  now?" 
227 


Children  of  Fate. 

"I  hope  he  is  asleep.  He  arrived  this  morning 
from  Bialestock,  where  he  spent  two  weeks 
among  the  cholera-stricken  people." 

"Let  me  have  a  peep  at  him,  Daniel,"  cried 
Merau,  springing  to  his  feet. 

But  the  Professor  looked  so  aghast  at  the  sug- 
gestion that  Merau  sat  down  subdued. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Daniel,  it  was  only  an  im- 
pulse. But  promise  me  that  you  will  make  no 
objection  if  he  gives  me  permission  to  make  a 
sketch  of  him." 

"Brother  Jean,  you  ought  not  to  exact  such  a 
promise  from  me;  you  know  that  I  would  do 
much  to  help  you  in  your  art ;  but  I  will  not  de- 
ceive him  whom  I  honour  as  I  honour  no  one  on 
earth.  I  have  never  forgiven  myself  for  letting  my 
vanity  run  away  with  me  as  it  did  when  I  adopt- 
ed him  and  let  him  matriculate  at  the  university 
under  the  name  of  Horovitz.  He  hates  falsehood. 
My  sister  tells  me  that  from  the  day  he  began  to 
speak  he  has  filled  her  heart  with  gladness  and 
her  soul  with  awe;  and  if  you  could  see  how 
gentle  he  is  with  her !    It  is  beautiful." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Joseph?"  said  Mrs. 
Rosen,  who  had  come  into  the  room. 

"Yes,  sister." 

Merau  sprang  up  and  kissed  the  woman's 
hand. 

"I  beg  to  salute  you,"  he  said. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Merau?"  she  asked. 

"As  bad  as  ever,  except  when  I  am  asking 
after  your  dear  son,"  he  said. 


Jean  Merau,  Artist. 

"He  has  but  this  moment  left  the  house  and 
asked  me  to  make  his  excuses  to  you,  Daniel. 
He  has  not  seen  his  poor  people  for  two  weeks 
and  is  anxious  to  know  how  they  are  get^ng 
on." 

When  Mrs.  Rosen  had  gone  the  friends  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence,  then  the  Professor  said 
almost  gaily: 

"Come,  little  Jean,  we  may  meet  him  some- 
where." 


229 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE  INNER  VOICE. 

Professor  Horovitz  and  his  friend  drove  to 
the  Lazienki  Park.  Nature  was  like  a  beautiful 
maiden,  awakened  smiling  from  a  long  sleep. 

"Look  at  this,  you  sinner,  and  tell  me  if  the 
picture  is  not  worthy  the  best  efforts  of  your 
brush,"  said  the  Professor. 

"I  do  not  deny  it ;  but  the  knowledge  that  all 
this  beauty  must  pass  away,  that  it  is  born  with 
the  germ  of  death  in  it,  saddens  me  and  does  not 
inspire  my  soul.  I  want  the  redeeming  feature, 
the  life  promising  life,"  the  artist  replied. 

"And  does  not  nature  promise  a  reawakening 
even  at  the  moment  when  it  is  sepulchred  in  snow 
and  ice?"  asked  the  Professor. 

"So  it  does;  but  so  do  the  rags  gathered  by 
the  ragman  promise  that  some  day  we  shall 
write  our  sweetest  or  bitterest  sentiments  on  the 
paper  that  the  rags  yield,"  said  the  artist. 

"Not  badly  put,"  the  Professor  remarked. 

"Only  I  don't  care  to  be  reminded  of  the  rags 
when  I  am  using  the  white  sheet  of  paper,"  Me- 
rau  continued,  "and  I  am  always  being  reminded 
of  it.  A  life  such  as  I  desire  to  put  on  canvas 
would  always  recall  the  beautiful  life  that  it  por- 
trayed ;  man  would  see  it  and  love  it." 

"Vanity,  thy  name  is  Little  Jean.  But  come, 
230 


The  Inner  Voice. 

let  us  get  out.  Send  the  carriage  home  and  let  us 
go  into  the  Saxon  Gardens,"  said  the  Professor. 

"Agreed,"  cried  Merau,  and  when  the  carriage 
had  stopped  he  jumped  out  nimbly  and  assisted 
his  friend  to  alight. 

They  had  walked  in  silence  for  some  minutes, 
when  Merau  grabbed  the  Professor's  arm. 

"There  he  is.  Look  at  him.  By  St.  George, 
he  is  the  only  typical  Christ  living !"  he  cried. 

Both  stood  still  and  watched  Joseph  who,  book 
in  hand,  was  coming  toward  them.  Frequently 
he  stopped  to  read,  then  he  would  continue  on 
his  way.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  looked  up  to  the 
sky,  gazed  into  the  distance  and  extended  one 
arm  as  if  he  were  going  to  address  some  one. 
The  pose,  though  unconsciously  artistic,  was  too 
much  for  Merau. 

"Daniel,"  he  cried,  "I  am  going  to  ask  him 
point  blank  to  sit  for  me."  And  taking  the  Pro- 
fessor's arm  they  went  quickly  up  to  Joseph. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  them  a  glad  look  came  into 
his  eyes. 

"How  are  you,  gentlemen?"  he  cried. 

"Reading  when  walking  is  an  invitation  to 
myopia,"  said  the  Professor. 

"I  have  made  a  discovery  which  is  the  safest 
cure  against  it,"  Joseph  replied. 

"And  that  is ?"  asked  the  Professor. 

"This,"  said  Joseph,  holding  out  a  copy  of  the 
New  Testament. 

"Bah !  it  may  be  a  discovery  for  you,  since  you 
never  read  it ;  but  for  us  it  is  ein  ueberumndener 
231 


Children  of  Fate. 

Standpunkt  We  are  neither  for  it  nor  against 
it.  We  manage  to  live  on  in  culpable  indiffer- 
ence, and  if  at  times  we  feel  the  need  of  some 
such  reading,  our  predilection  is  for  Voltaire," 
said  the  Professor. 

"Voltaire  was  a  thief  and  an  habitual  liar," 
cried  Joseph. 

*Toets  and  merchants  are  addicted  to  the  same 
habits;  if  the  former  lie  for  pleasure  and  the 
latter  for  gain,  why  should  not  the  philosopher 
practice  the  golden  mean  and  take  a  bit  of  both?" 
the  Professor  replied,  and  putting  his  hand  on 
Joseph's  shoulder,  added,  "Well,  after  all,  you 
might  spend  your  time  and  money  on  far  worse 
things." 

"I  did  not  spend  a  grosh  on  this ;  but  I  do  not 
subscribe  to  your  idea  that  Voltaire  is  preferable 
to  the  Christ  story,"  Joseph  responded. 

"That  is  not  quite  my  idea,"  said  the  Profes- 
sor; "what  I  really  intended  to  say  is  that  I 
prefer  the  strong  intellectuality  of  the  French- 
man to  the  weak  sentimentality  of  the  Galilean." 

"You  call  the  censor  of  the  Sadducean  priest- 
hood in  Jerusalem  weak?  The  man  who  lashed 
the  Pharisees,  weak !"  cried  Joseph,  and  his  form 
appeared  to  grow  as  he  spoke.  "I  cannot  im- 
agine a  stronger  personality;  the  cynicism  of 
Voltaire  pales  by  the  side  of  this  wonderful  man 
of  old." 

Merau  listened  to  Joseph  as  if  magnetised.  At 
length  he  roused  himself. 

"Are  you,  then,  a  Christian?"  he  asked. 
232 


The  Inner  Voice. 

"I  !'*  cried  Joseph.  **Why  should  I  be  a  Chris- 
tian ?  What  is  a  Christian  ?  You  do  not,  I  sup- 
pose, mean  the  people  who  go  to  the  fine 
churches  in  the  city  of  Warsaw,  who  bow  before 
the  cross  and  then  live  only  for  frivolity?  Or 
do  you  mean  those  that  ride  in  gilded  carriages, 
wear  fine  clothes  and  splendid  jewels,  are  sur- 
rounded by  troops  of  servants  and  live  in  luxury  ? 
Or  do  you  mean  the  poor  wretches  who  get 
drunk,  beat  their  wives,  and  pull  the  beards  of 
the  poor  Jew  pedlars?  No,  I  am  not  a  Chris- 
tian." 

The  Professor  felt  something  like  awe  before 
the  majesty  of  Joseph's  speech ;  Merau  looked  at 
him  open-mouthed,  he  could  not  grasp  the  power 
that  lay  in  this  bolt  of  accusation  that  had  been 
so  calrnly  hurled. 

The  Professor  was  the  first  to  regain  his  hab- 
itually calm  and  sarcastic  manner. 

**You  are  a  quick  reader,  Joseph,  and  you 
readily  absorb  the  thoughts  that  are  presented  to 
you;  but,  believe  me,  the  Christ  story  is  neither 
new  nor  interesting,  and  above  all  it  does  not 
aid  the  digestion,"  he  said. 

"Stuff!"  cried  Merau;  "I  wish  he  would  read 
this  story  daily  for  an  hour  in  my  studio." 

"I  will  do  so  if  it  will  please  you,"  Joseph  re- 
plied. 

Merau  threw  his  arms  around  Joseph's  neck 
and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek. 

"Come  now,"  he  cried.  "I  want  to  catch 
your  expression." 

233 


Children  of  Fate. 

As  they  walked  on,  a  band  of  little  bareheaded 
urchins  in  tattered  clothes  turned  somersaults 
and  played  all  sorts  of  antics  in  front  of  them 
to  get  a  few  pennies. 

Joseph  gave  them  some  coppers. 

"Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me, 
for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  quoted 
Merau,  looking  at  Joseph  with  sparkling  eyes. 
Taking  a  handful  of  coins  from  his  pocket,  he 
threw  them  amongst  the  little  ones,  who  scram- 
bled for  their  prize. 

Merau  was  beside  himself  with  joy.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  in  his  good  fortune,  and  he  was 
not  happy  until  Joseph  was  in  his  studio.  A 
prominent  object  in  the  studio  was  an  easel  on 
which  stood  a  large  picture  covered  with  a  cloth. 
Merau  took  off  the  cloth  and  displayed  the  por- 
trait of  a  woman. 

Joseph  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 

"Whose  portrait  is  that?"  asked  the  Professor. 

"A  relative  of  the  Epsteins,"  said  Merau. 

Joseph  turned  quickly. 

"A  relative  of  the  Epsteins !"  he  cried.  "Why, 
this  is " 

"An  American  girl,"  said  Merau,  who  had  not 
noticed  the  bearing  of  Joseph's  exclamation,  and 
continued  to  prepare  a  canvas  for  his  work. 

Joseph  stood  before  the  picture  in  an  attitude 
of  adoration.  The  wonderful  likeness  of  the 
features  to  those  he  carried  in  his  soul — the 
strange  coincidence  that  brought  these  features 
before  him  so  real,  so  vivid,  so  speaking,  that  it 

234     


The  Inner  Voice. 

seemed  as  if  the  lips  would  move  and  address 
him  as  they  once  did  with  soul-stirring  passion — 
all  this  appeared  to  him  like  the  mysterious 
working  of  Providence. 

He  was  fighting  against  the  devouring  passion 
that  consumed  him.  He  was  battling  with  him- 
self as  he  had  battled  when  Amanda  told  him 
she  was  willing  to  proclaim  her  love  for  him  be- 
fore all  the  world,  and  that  she  would  die  if  he 
forced  her  to  go  away  from  him. 

"I  love  you,"  she  said,  "and  when  a  woman 
loves  she  is  braver  than  a  man.  I  defy  the 
world ;  I  never  cared  much  for  my  family ;  you 
are  all  the  world  to  me." 

But  he  said,  "You  must  go,  and  if  it  be  God's 
will,  you  shall  reap  a  reward.  When  the  time 
comes,  you  will  be  by  my  side,  but  now  you  must 
go." 

He  had  then  irrevocably  decided  to  engage  in 
the  great  work  among  the  sick  and  poor  of  War- 
saw. He  had  seen  the  futility  of  a  life  of  love 
such  as  Providence  or  circumstances  offered  him. 
He  could  not  marry  a  Christian  woman  and  live 
a  life  of  strife  and  protest  against  all  the  world. 
The  story  of  love  and  suffering,  as  he  had  heard 
it  from  the  mouth  of  his  uncle,  was  always  in  his 
memory.  The  days  he  had  spent  among  the 
cholera-stricken  people  of  Bialestock  strength- 
ened his  resolve  to  forego  the  personal  happiness 
that  a  union  with  Amanda  promised.  He  was 
unlike  other  men.  The  desire  of  self-abnegation 
grew  in  proportion  as  the  charm  of  worldly  hap- 

235 


Children  of  Fate. 

piness  was  offered  him,  and  once  he  had  per- 
suaded Amanda  to  go  abroad,  temptation  was 
practically  removed.  He  was  tranquil,  and  in  a 
measure  happy. 

Now  suddenly  a  vision  of  the  adorable  face 
had  appeared  before  his  eyes,  and,  as  he  gazed 
upon  it,  tears  dimmed  his  sight.  He  had  never 
before  been  really  conscious  that  he  was  in  the 
grip  of  a  strange  and  marvelous  power.  What 
was  it?  He  was  bewildered.  He  wanted  to  ana- 
lyze his  feelings,  to  get  a  clear,  comprehensive 
view  of  his  own  condition  and  of  the  force  that 
held  him.  A  voice  seemed  to  call  to  him  from 
his  inner  consciousness. 

"You  are  helpless  before  the  force  you  have 
encountered ;  you  neither  can  conquer  nor  evade 
it ;  analysis  of  your  motives  is  futile." 

"But  who  are  you  that  would  put  yourself  be- 
tween me  and  the  work  to  which  I  desire  to  de- 
vote my  life?"  he  mutely  asked. 

And  the  voice  answered:  "I  am  as  a  pebble 
on  the  shore  of  life.  .  .  Cast  upon  the  placid 
waters  I  turn  into  a  ripple  and  expand  over 
their  entire  surface ...  I  am  the  water  that  laps 
the  distant  shore.  .  .  I  am  the  universe  wherein 
the  earth  revolves.  .  .  I  am  the  force  that  holds 
the  constellations  together.  .  .  I  am  the  fire  of 
the  sun.  .  .  I  am  the  light  of  day.  .  .  I  am  the 
darkness  of  night.  .  .  I  am  the  calm  and  the 
storm.  .  .  I  am  the  east  and  the  west,  the  north 
and  the  south.  .  .  I  am  above  and  below.  .  .  I  am 
the  pivot  of  the  world. 

236 


The  Inner  Voice. 

"I  am  the  glory  of  nations,  the  ambition  of 
man.  .  .  I  am  the  spirit  of  courage  and  the  fear 
of  the  coward.  .  .  I  am  the  wisdom  of  the  sage 
and  the  folly  of  the  thoughtless.  .   . 

"I  am  the  fancy  of  the  poet,  the  vision  of  the 
dreamer,  the  smile  of  the  tender,  the  force  of 
the  brutal,  the  sweetness  of  the  gentle. 

"I  am  good  and  evil,  joy  and  sorrow,  hope  and 
despair,  sin  and  saintliness.  .  . 

"I  am  the  aspiration  of  the  living,  the  regret 
of  the  dying  ...  the  tranquillity  of  the  saint, 
the  unrest  of  the  sinner  ...  the  prodigality  of 
the  spendthrift  and  the  greed  of  the  miser.  .  . 

"I  am  the  chilled  steel  of  the  mind  and  the 
molten  lead  of  the  heart.  .  .  I  am  kindness  and 
cruelty.  .  .  I  am  relentless  and  yielding.  .  .  I  am 
compassionate  and  cold.  .  .  I  am  the  head  and 
the  heart,  the  leaping  blood  and  the  brilliant 
tear.  .  .  I  am  the  power  that  moves  all  beings, 
that  prompts  every  action,  that  penetrates  the 
deepest  deep  of  all  that  lives.  .  .  I  was  in  the 
beginning ;  I  was  through  aeons  of  time ;  I  shall 
be  forever.  .   . 

"I  play  with  creatures  at  my  pleasure.  .   . 

"I  humble  the  proud,  raise  the  lowly,  and 
beatify  the  fallen.  .  .  I  make  the  cruel  tender  and 
the  tender  cruel,  the  strong  weak  and  the  weak 
strong.  .  .  I  make  the  simple-minded  wise  and 
the  wise  foolish.  .   . 

"I  am  the  power  that  multiplies  all  creatures. 
.  .  .  I  am  the  source  and  cause  of  all  life.  .  . 


237 


Children  of  Fate. 

"I  am  the  essence  of  thought,  the  soul  of  de- 
sire. .   . 

"King  and  peasant,  philosopher  and  priest,  all 
are  my  slaves,  and  all  that  lives  is  in  my  service. 
.  .  .  Without  me  nothing  can  exist;  I  am  the 
bond  that  holds  humanity  together,  and  while 
man  lives  he  cannot  escape  from  me,  who  am  his 
essence  and  the  only  power  by  which  all  things 
exist  in  time  and  in  space.  .  .  Even  though  he 
die,  he  escapes  me  not,  for  he  but  serves  to  prop- 
agate existences  that  are  subject  tO'  the  eternal 
law,  the  law  of  which  I  am  the  beginning  and  the 
end.  .  . 

"I  slumber  not,  nor  do  I  sleep,  and  at  the  given 
hour  and  at  the  appointed  place  I  call  forth  com- 
mands that  must  be  obeyed.  .   . 

"And  whatever  man  does  for  himself  or  for 
others  it  is  ever  done  at  my  behest.  .  .  His  wor- 
ship or  his  jeers,  his  desires  or  his  denials,  his 
greed  or  his  gifts,  his  war  or  his  peace,  his  joy 
or  his  sorrow,  his  smiles  or  his  frowns,  his  tears 
or  his  laughter,  all,  all  comes  from  me.  .  .  " 

Joseph  was  terrified  at  the  resistless  surge  of 
his  thoughts.  "And  must  I  pass  through  the 
same  gate  of  experience  as  others?" 

"You  have  passed  the  gates  long  ago — at  the 
time  when  you  read  the  poet's  passion  to  the  sad- 
hearted  woman  who  once  pleaded  with  you  for 
my  sake." 

A  tremor  ran  through  Joseph's  body ;  then  he 
braced  himself. 

"I  shall  conquer,"  he  said  to  himself. 
238 


The  Inner  Voice. 

"We  shall  see,"  the  voice  replied,  and  soon 
Joseph's  vision  cleared  ...  he  was  ready  for 
the  fight. 

Merau,  who  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going 
on  in  Joseph's  mind,  perceived  only  the  outward 
effect,  which  suited  his  artistic  fancy.  It  was 
this  very  expression  that  he  desired;  it  inspired 
him,  and  he  worked  with  a  fervor  that  reddened 
his  great,  round  face  and  till  drops  of  perspira- 
tion fell  on  to  his  palette. 

At  length  Joseph's  eyes,  so  human  and  yet  so 
divine,  looked  from  the  canvas,  and  then  the  mas- 
ter stopped. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said,  laying  down  the  palette 
and  brush. 

The  Professor  looked  at  Merau's  work  with 
undisguised  admiration. 

"There  is  something,  after  all,  in  that  fancy 
of  yours,  Jean;  or  is  it  the  Christ  story?"  he 
said. 

"No,  it  is  the  woman,"  whispered  the  artist. 

The  Professor  glanced  at  Joseph,  who  was 
looking  at  some  of  Merau's  paintings. 

"Let  us  hope  that  you  are  right,"  he  said  in  an 
undertone.  Aloud,  he  added:  "I  cannot  see 
what  the  world  admires  in  the  person  of  Christ. 
Men  as  noble  as  He  lived  before  Him  and  after 
Him ;  some  were  tortured  and  killed.  A  sad  face 
is  not  necessarily  an  object  of  admiration." 

"I  am  an  artist  and  admire  whatever  appears 
to  me  to  be  beautiful.  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Joseph?"  cried  Merau. 

239 


•     "  Children  of  Fate. 

"I  ?''  said  Joseph,  and  he  passed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes ;  "I  do  not  know,  but  I  should  think  that 
the  God-Hke  in  mankind  is  the  most  appealing 
thing  there  is,  and  touches  our  souls  most 
nearly." 

"Ideals,"  murmured  the  Professor. 

"And  unattainable,"  suggested  Merau. 

"All  the  more  reason  why  we  ought  to  strive 
after  them,"  said  Joseph,  looking  at  one  of  the 
landscapes  that  represented  the  source  of  the  Vis- 
tula. 

"The  attempt  is  more  than  foolish — it  is  crim- 
inal," the  Professor  rather  warmly  rejoined. 

"That  may  be  true  of  earthly  efforts  directed 
by  motives  of  mere  selfishness,  but  it  cannot  be 
true  of  our  duty  to  humanity,  which  is  the 
noblest  attempt  at  the  realization  of  an  ideal. 
What  is  our  mercy  other  than  an  attempt  to  imi- 
tate the  Being  whom  we  call  All-Merciful,  and 
what  is  human  love,  human  fellowship,  but  an  ef- 
fort to  live  up  to  a  divine  ideal?" 

"'Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star,  as  the  American 
philosopher  Emerson  puts  it,"  said  Merau. 

"We  need  not  go  to  America,  Pan  Jean,  for  a 
proof  of  my  assertion.  Think  how  beautifully 
Lessing  puts  it,  'If  God,  the  Father,  held  Truth 
in  His  rig^ht  hand  and  in  H'is  left  hand  He  held 
but  the  Desire  for  Truth,  and  he  spake  to  me, 
'Son,  choose!'  I  would  humbly  sink  at  His  feet 
and  say,  'Father,  give  me  the  Desire  for  the 
Truth,  since  Truth  herself  is  for  Thee  alone.' 
What,  then,  is  left  to  mortal  man  other  than  the 
240 


The  Inner  Voice. 

striving,  the  effort,  the  attempt  to  do  as  much 
as  we  can  for  those  who  suffer?"  cried  Joseph, 
his  face  flushing. 

"Look  to  your  laurels,  Daniel,"  said  Merau; 
"Joseph's  idealism  is  more  rational  than  your 
materialism." 

"His  inexperience  is  great;  his  enthusiasm 
has  the  lambency  of  youth  untried  in  the  furnace 
of  passion;  he  is  unselfish  because  he  has  not 
been  asked  to  deny  himself  a  strong  desire  of 
the  heart,"  said  the  Professor. 

Joseph  turned  pale.  His  uncle's  words  cut 
him  like  a  knife;  he  felt  a  pain  at  his  heart. 
How  could  he  tell  them  of  the  battle  he  had 
waged,  that  his  very  unselfishness  was  begotten 
bv  his  love,  that  every  act  of  his  life  now  was 
like  a  spark  from  the  wonderful  passion  that 
burned  in  his  soul? 

And  as  he  looked  upon  the  picture  of  the  girl 
who  bore  so  marvelous  a  resemblance  to 
Amanda,  he  asked  himself  again  and  again  if  it 
miVht  not  be  better  to  tell  them  all  and  to  throw 
self-denial  to  the  winds. 

But  something  within  him,  something  whicH 
had  guided  his  life  ere  the  spirit  of  love  had 
spoken,  something  equally  notent  and  over 
which  he  had  no  control,  told  him  to  keep  silence. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  his  duty  clearly,  he  grew 
calmer;  he  saw  that  he  must  at  all  costs  gain 
strength  to  resist  under  all  conditions  and  cir- 
cumstances. A  kind  of  cynicism  came  over  him ; 
he,  who  fought  against  love's  power,  would  ex- 
241 


Children  of  Fate. 

plain  its  meaning;  he  felt  the  desire  to  play 
upon  his  own  heartstrings,  and  a  chance  remark 
of  the  painter's  gave  him  opportunity. 

"I  do  not  believe  that  love  necessarily  begets 
selfishness/*  said  Merau. 

"It  does  not,  Pan  Jean,"  said  Joseph.  "Love 
is  a  bell  made  vibrant  by  contact  with  a  fore- 
ordained personality ;  it  is  the  light  that  gladdens 
the  seeing  eye,  the  power  that  sustains  the  re- 
sponsive heart  and  sentient  soul ;  it  is  the  infini- 
tesimal seed  that  in  time  grows  to  a  beautiful 
pearl;  it  feeds  on  life,  and  in  its  turn  gives  in- 
finite pleasure;  it  loses  itself  in  its  own  being, 
and  becomes  a  great  active  force.  Love  is  the 
law  of  God,  and  by  that  law  man  must  seek  his 
own  and  other  people's  happiness ;  for  man  was 
made  for  happiness,  not  for  grief ;  for  smiles,  not 
for  tears ;  and  both  grief  and  tears  are  incidental, 
only  incidental." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  and  with  each  word  pierced 
his  own  heart  till  it  bled.  Sighing  deeply,  he 
turned  to  his  spellbound  listeners,  and  added : 

"Still,  to  reach  the  highest,  love  must  not  yield 
to  the  sweets  of  life ;  it  must  devote  its  being  to 
comfort  those  in  misery." 

"As  Christ  did?"  asked  Merau. 

"As  all  great  souls  did,"  said  Joseph. 

"And  give  away  all  one  has  to  the  poor?"  the 
Professor  asked,  with  a  sneer. 

"As  much  as  one  can  conscientiously  give 
without  impoverishing  himself  and  leaving  his 
dear  ones  destitute.  Love,  the  great  law  of  God, 
242 


The  Inner  Voice. 

should  make  a  man  thus  unselfish,  it  seems  to 
me/'  said  Joseph. 

"By  St.  George,"  cried  Merau,  "both  ideas  are 
excellent.  A  man  who  is  wedded  to  gold  and 
lacks  the  sentiments  essential  to  noble  living,  or 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  beautiful,  is  fit  only  for 
the  dogs — and  even  they  would  turn  tail  and 
scurry  away  from  his  flesh,  for  it  would  have  a 
metallic  taste.  But  the  idea  that  love  is  the  law 
of  God  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  animal  pas- 
sion, strikes  me  as  fine.  Love  is  the  poetry  of 
life.  Here  you  have  a  block  of  marble;  there 
the  finished  figure.  Here  a  piece  of  canvas  and 
a  pot  of  paint — there  the  speaking  image.  Yes, 
it  is  love  that  does  it,"  cried  Merau. 

"Dreams,  dreams,"  said  the  Professor.  "If 
love  be  the  law  of  God,  then  H*e  ought  to  care 
for  those  eager  to  obey  His  law.  There  was 
none  more  eager  to  obey  that  law  than  I.  Yet 
think  of  the  sepulchre  that  holds  all  that  this 
dreamer  calls  the  law  of  God." 

"That  does  not  prove  that  the  law  of  God  is 
wrong;  it  merely  proves  that  conditions  are 
wrong,  and  no  one  ought  to  take  advantage  of 
conditions,  right  or  wrong,  to  the  injury  of  an- 
other or  of  one's  self,"  said  Joseph  slowly. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  professor. 

"One  might  be  called  upon  to  defend  acts  such 
as  yours  would  have  been  had  you  been  willing 
to  do  a  certain  thing — had  the  princess  lived  and 
you  had  married  her." 


243 


Children  of  Fate. 

"You  mean  I  should  have  been  in  ill  repute 
with  the  Jews?" 

"No,  with  the  Christians ;  no  one  would  have 
forgiven  a  Jew  who  had  captured  a  princess, 
even  if  the  Jew  had  foresworn  the  faith  of  his 
fathers ;  he  would  always  be  thought  of  as  a  JeW 
who  had  tricked  a  Christian  lady  into  marrying 
him;  a  wizard,  who  deserved  burning  at  the 
stake,"  said  Joseph. 

"And  with  these  ideas  you  still  work  among 
the  poor  regardless  of  creed,  you  still  act  the 
Christ  on  the  lower  Nalevki !"  cried  Merau. 

"If,  as  you  say.  Pan  Jean,  I  am  acting  the 
Christ  on  the  lower  Nalevki,  I  beg  you  to  re- 
member that  I  am  acting  a  legitimate  part. 
Christ  was  a  Jew;  I  must,  therefore,  do  all  the 
good  I  can  for  the  Jews,  but  as  the  others  ac- 
cepted Him  as  their  own,  I  naturally  owe  some- 
thing to  them  also,"  he  answered  with  a  smile. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Merau's  ser- 
vant ehtered  and  announced  Mr.  Epstein,  who 
stood  in  the  door  breathing  stertorously  and 
wiping  his  face  with  a  red  silk  handkerchief. 

"Come  in,"  cried  Merau  and  went  to  greet  the 
newcomer. 

Mr.  Epstein  entered  the  studio  followed  by 
his  daughter  and  Beatrice.  One  look  sufficed  to 
show  that  Beatrice  was  the  original  of  Merau's 
painting. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Epstein,"  said 
Merau,  shaking  hands  with  the  banker. 

"Glad  to  see  me!"  the  other  cried;  "a  fine 
244 


The  Inner  Voice. 

time  we  had  getting  here;  climbing  five  flights 
of  stairs  is  no  joke,  and  Miss  New  York  is 
nearly  dead.  Out  there  in  America  they  have 
lifts,  but  here !  Ah,  how  do  you  do,  Professor  ? 
And  young  gentleman?  Glad  to  see  you.  Why 
so  strange,  young  gentleman?"  he  said,  shaking 
hands  with  Joseph. 

The  latter  bowed;  he  was  ghastly  pale  and 
found  it  impossible  to  utter  a  word ;  his  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still,  and  he  felt  as  if  the 
ground  were  giving  way  under  him.  He  was 
not  prepared  for  the  shock  that  the  sight  of  the 
American  girl  gave  him  and  he  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  the  banker  turned  his  attention 
to  the  others. 

"Artists,  like  eagles,  perch  high;  eh,  Mr.  Me- 
rau?" 

"They  are  forced  to,  Mr.  Epstein;  they  find 
nothing  to  eat  down  below ;  there  are  too  many 
vultures  about,"  laughed  the  artist. 

"Good,  good,"  cried  the  banker.  "Oh,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  Professor.  Let  me  introduce  you 
to  this  young  Republican,  Professor  von  Horo- 
vitz,  Miss  Beatrice  Rosen ;  Mr.  Joseph  Horovitz, 
Miss  Rosen." 

Joseph  bowed  to  the  girl,  whose  face  crim- 
soned as  she  looked  at  the  man  who  appeared  to 
have  stepped  out  of  her  dream  to  greet  her.  But 
she  was  puzzled.  His  name  was  Horovitz,  so 
he  could  not  be  the  one  she  longed  to  meet,  and 
yet — her  intuition  was  strong,  and  she  yielded 
to  the  magnetism  of  the  personality  before  her. 

245 


Children  of  Fate. 

The  colour  in  her  face  came  and  went ;  her  eyes, 
slightly  humid,  seemed  to  be  searching  for  some 
suggestion  that  the  man  who  stood  before  her 
was  the  one  whose  image  she  cherished  in  her 
soul.  She  hoped  he  would  come  to  her  assist- 
ance, but  he  showed  no  signs  of  offering  an  ex- 
planation. He  was  bewildered,  awed  into  speech- 
lessness. He  was  afraid  of  the  web  into  which 
fate  was  drawing  him. 

Ella  Epstein,  with  a  woman's  instinct,  had  di- 
vined what  accident  had  brought  about,  and  tried 
to  bridge  over  the  gap  between  these  two  beings. 

"Mr.  Hlorovitz  used  to  call  on  us  occasionally 
with  Count  Waldeck,"  she  said,  "but  he  has  no 
desire  to  cultivate  people  other  than  those  who 
are  in  hospitals  or  in  the  slums.  You  see,  Mr. 
Horovitz,  your  work  is  not  unknown  to  me." 

He  felt  relieved. 

"I  sincerely  hope  I  have  not  established  a 
reputation  for  repugnance  to  polite  society.  Miss 
Epstein,"  he  said. 

Beatrice  closed  her  eyes  and  listened  to  his 
voice,  which  intoxicated  her. 

"I  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that,  but  you 
might  have  looked  us  up.  Miss  Rosen's  inclina- 
tions are  not  unlike  your  own,  and  you  might  be 
able  to  direct  her  efforts." 

"I  am  afraid  I  can  teach  Miss  Rosen  little 
about  dispensing  charity.  A  woman  is  generally 
more  apt  at  that  work  than  a  man,  "  he  replied. 

"Gome  girls,  we  mustn't  stay,"  cried  Mr.  Ep- 
stein. 

246 


The  Inner  Voice. 

Ella  and  Beatrice  rose  and  Joseph  with  them. 

"Come  and  see  us,  Mr.  Horovitz,"  said  Ella. 

Beatrice  looked  at  him  with  pleading  eyes. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Epstein,"  he  replied,  "I 
will  call  as  soon  as  I  find  an  opportunity." 

"Make  the  opportunity,"  she  rejoined, 

"If  I  cannot  make  it,  I  will  certainly  make  use 
of  it  when  it  presents  itself,"  he  said,  and  smiled. 

"Let  us  hope  that  Dame  Opportunity  will  pre- 
sent herself  very,  very  soon,"  said  Ella. 

Joseph  was  strangely  moved  by  the  smile  that 
broke  over  Beatrice's  face  at  her  friend's  words. 
Amanda  had  rarely  smiled.  The  scenes  with  her 
were  always  sad,  because  he  was  unyielding, 
always  fighting  against  his  own  passion.  Now 
he  could  imagine  what  bliss  there  would  be  in 
Amanda's  smile;  he  longed  with  all  his  soul  to 
see  it.  For  a  moment  he  had  believed  that  this 
American  girl  was  in  reality  none  other  than 
Amanda,  who  had  followed  him  to  plead  her 
cause.  He  could  not  think  that  Beatrice  appeared 
to  others  as  she  did  to  him,  and  thus,  moment  by 
moment,  he  yielded  to  her,  and  with  this  yielding 
there  came  great  happiness  into  his  heart. 

"I  am  sure  the  opportunity  will  come  sooner 
than  you  think.  Miss  Epstein,"  he  said. 

"Mark  my  words,  sir,"  broke  in  the  banker's 
voice,  "the  big  Prussian  will  get  as  good  as  he 
gives,  and  France  is  the  country  to  do  it;  the 
third  Napoleon  may  have  short  legs,  but  he  has 
a  long  head  and  a  good  army.  He  will  rap  Bis- 
marck on  the  knuckles." 
247 


Children  of  Fate. 

"If  it  comes  to  a  war  between  Prussia  and 
France  there  will  be  an  end  of  Napoleon,"  said 
the  Professor. 

"Well,  come  away,  children,"  said  the  banker ; 
"and,  young  gentleman,  don't  look  so  strange. 
Au  revoirj  cher  Professeur;  remember  what  I 
told  you  about  Bismarck.  Au  revoir,  Merau; 
splendid  picture;  only  you  live  too  high.  In 
America  they  have  lifts,  yes ;  but  here,  well " 

The  broken  sentences  and  the  sound  of  his 
great  voice  that  rose  to  a  falsetto  and  fell  to  a 
growl,  gradually  died  away  as  he  stamped  down 
the  stairs. 

When  they  had  gone,  Merau  looked  at  Joseph 
and  whistled.  He  had  seen  at  once  the  effect  die 
sight  of  the  American  girl  had  upon  his  young 
friend. 

"He  is  caught.  Papa  Daniel,  caught  like  a  but- 
terfly in  the  net  of  the  beautiful  American  fairy," 
he  cried. 

The  Professor  showed  no  surprise ;  he  put  his 
hand  on  Joseph's  shoulder. 

"Is  it  true?"  he  asked  tenderly. 

Joseph  started. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  uncle?" 

"I  asked  if  the  girl  had  really  made  an  impres- 
sion on  you.  At  your  age  one  usually  knows  this 
at  once.  Go  ahead,  my  boy,  and  count  on  my 
support.  It  has  always  been  my  ambition  to  aid 
lovers,"  he  said  smilingly. 

"Thank  you,  uncle ;  but  it  would  be  love's  la- 
bour lost.  I  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is 
248 


The  Inner  Voice. 

infinitely  easier  to  commit  an  error  than  to  cor- 
rect one,"  he  said  with  a  fine  smile. 

"What  error  can  you  possibly  commit  by  fall- 
ing in  love  with  this  beautiful  girl?  What  are 
your  objections?"  asked  the  Professor. 

"Why  are  you  assuming  that  I  have  objec- 
tions?" was  the  counter  question. 

"You  spoke  as  if  you  would  not  care  to  culti- 
vate her  acquaintance,"  said  the  Professor. 

"You  read  more  into  my  words  than  I  meant," 
Joseph  rejoined. 

"But  you  would  not  seek  her  in  marriage?" 
asked  his  uncle. 

"No." 

"Then  you  have  a  reason,  I  suppose?" 

"A  most  potent  one." 

"May  I  know  it?" 

"She  does  not  look  like  a  Jewess." 

"What?"  cried  the  Professor  and  Merau  with 
one  voice.  ':!:;•  - 

"My  explanation  might  prove  as  strange  to  you 
as  my  statement,  still  I  shall  make  it  in  the  hope 
that  you  may  be  satisfied  and  not  attempt  to  lead 
me  into  further  temptation,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"It  all  depends  whether  you  have  objections 
to  matrimony  in  general,  in  which  case  your  ex- 
planation would  not  have  the  force  of  convic- 
tion," said  Merau. 

"I  have  no  objection  to  matrimony;  I  will  even 
admit  that  a  Jew  might  marry  a  Gentile  and  ex- 
pect a  reasonable  amount  of  happiness,  provided 
they  lived  in  a  country  where  there  is  no  preju- 
249 


Children  of  Fate. 

dice  against  the  Jew.  Even  the  Jews  themselves 
might  condone  an  alliance  of  this  sort  under  cer- 
tain conditions.  But  think  of  a  Jewess  who  looks 
like  a  Gentile,  is  beautiful  as  a  goddess,  and  has 
the  inconvenience  of  a  Jewish  husband.  It 
would  be  tantamount  to  inciting  all  the  officers 
of  the  garrison  in  Warsaw  and  Praga  to  cut  each 
other's  throats  and  incidentally  that  of  the  hus- 
band. You  know  that  Russian  officers  consider 
a  Jewish  woman  public  property  and  a  beautiful 
Jewess  their  own  particular  property.  Now, 
gentlemen,  have  you  still  the  heart  to  urge  me  to 
follow  this  beautiful  girl  of  malice  prepense? 
Would  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  wish  her  and  me 
such  dire  disaster  ?"  he  concluded  with  a  laugh. 

It  was  obvious  to  Merau  and  the  Professor 
that  this  was  not  the  real  reason.  The  latter  was 
genuinely  distressed  by  the  manifestation  of  this 
new  phase  in  his  nephew's  character.  Who  and 
what  had  caused  this  evident  bitterness,  this  new 
cynicism  that  coloured  Joseph's  words?  He 
could  think  of  no  reason  for  it.  He  was  certain 
that  it  was  not  Ella  Epstein.  He  was  equally 
certain  that  Joseph  had  no  entanglement  of 
which  he  would  be  ashamed.  Even  if  he  had, 
Professor  Horovitz  had  been  sufficiently  tried  in 
the  fire  of  misfortune  not  to  blame  his  nephew. 
He  would  have  stood  by  him  at  all  hazards. 

"I  said,  Joseph,  that  you  can  count  on  my  sup- 
port, and  I  meant  it;  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  that  you  may  do  or  may  have  done  that 
will  not  find  sympathy  in  my  heart,"  said  he. 

250 


The  Inner  Voice. 

"Thank  you,  dear  uncle,"  said  Joseph,  grasp- 
ing his  uncle's  hand.  "But  you  need  not  worry, 
I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  entangle  myself." 

"I  sincerely  wish  you  would — in  this  case,"  the 
Professor  rejoined. 

"I  cannot,  dear  uncle,"  said  Joseph. 

"But  can  you  give  a  solid  reason?  You  know 
what  this  would  mean  to  me  and  to  your  mother," 
urged  the  Professor. 

Joseph's  heart  beat  violently.  He  saw  that  he 
could  not  remain  silent  in  the  face  of  such  an  ap- 
peal without  deeply  hurting  his  uncle,  whom  he 
dearly  loved.  The  mention  of  his  mother  dis- 
tressed him,  too.  His  life  was  one  long  chain  of 
devotion  to  her.  But  he  knew  her  soul,  he  knew 
that  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  say  to  her, 
"Mother,  I  must  do  this  thing,"  she  would  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  say  to  him,  "Son, 
you  know  best,"  even  though  she  wept  as  she 
said  it. 

Yet  he  owed  it  to  his  uncle  to  explain,  and  if 
he  could  not  tell  the  secret  that  lay  deep  in  his 
heart,  he  could  at  least  tell  part  of  it. 

"To  give  you  a  reason  for  my  present  action 
would  be  to  court  argument,  and  of  that  my  case 
does  not  admit,  because  my  desire  is  to  bear 
lightly  a  duty  which  to  most  men  would  appear 
quite  irrational.  I  want  to  be  happy  and  light 
of  heart  in  my  work.  I  am  declining  to  run  after 
a  life  of  love  and  luxury  because  I  deem  my  oc- 
cupation infinitely  sweeter  and  more  potent  to 
give  me  true  happiness.    You  might  argue  that 

251 


Children  of  Fate. 

a  man  need  not  cease  to  be  an  active  ag-ent  in  the 
cause  of  humanity  because  he  makes  a  home  for 
himself.  That  I  would  not  deny.  But  I  deny 
anyone's  right  to  lessen  the  full  measure  of  my 
happiness,  and  if  I  find  the  full  measure  of  hap- 
piness in  my  work,  why  should  I  curtail  it  by 
other  things  and  other  duties  ? 

"However,  let  me  leave  argument  alone  and 
try  to  give  you  a  plain  statement  of  my  case.  It 
was  the  dream  of  my  life  to  be  in  some  degree  a 
help  to  others.  During  the  early  years  of  my 
life  this  feeling  was  wholly  centred  in  my  mother. 
The  time  came  when  I  saw  my  dream  realised, 
and  my  mother  well  and  happy.  Then  the  larger 
problem  presented  itself,  and  as  the  desire  of  a 
lifetime  cannot  be  satisfied  when  only  one-half  of 
it  is  accomplished,  I  took  up  my  present  work 
not  only  with  pleasure,  but  with  passion.  In  time 
also  I  came  to  see  that  this  passion  was  the  pas- 
sion of  the  very  greatest  men  that  ever  lived ; 
Moses,  Isaiah,  Buddha,  and  Christ  were  moved 
by  this  desire,  by  this  passion.  You  may  say  I 
am  presumptuous,  but  since  I  can  afford  to  sat- 
isfy my  desire,  why  deny  myself  the  pleasure? 
You,  dear  uncle,  have  it  in  your  power  to  curb 
my  passion  by  withdrawing  from  me  the  means. 
That  would  not,  however,  extinguish  my  passion  ; 
I  should  then  do  what  I  could  and  in  all  proba- 
bility die  of  grief  that  I  could  not  do  more." 

His  tones  had  sunk  to  a  whisper.  Both  Merau 
and  the  Professor  were  profoundly  moved  and 
the  former   turned   away   to  hide   his    emotion. 

252 


The  Inner  Voice. 

The  Professor  had  turned  deadly  pale  and  trem- 
bled in  every  limb.  He  had  followed  Joseph's 
words  with  keen  attention  and  a  feeling  of  dis- 
may. He  saw  all  his  plans  swept  away,  all  his 
hopes  annihilated.  He  knew  that  he  was  power- 
less to  battle  against  this  gentle  yet  inflexible  re- 
solve. He  did  not  penetrate  the  wall  behind 
which  was  hidden  the  real  cause,  although  Joseph 
had  almost  recklessly  exposed  it;  nor  could  he 
conceive  that  his  nephew  had  a  secret. 

At  length  he  composed  himself  sufficiently  to 
say: 

"I  hope  you  will  change  your  mind.  At  least 
give  yourself  a  chance.  I  am  not  pleading  for 
myself,  although  I  shall  not  deny  that  it  would 
please  me  much  to  see  you  happy  in  the  way  I 
think  of  happiness.  I  confess  that  I  am  not 
gifted  with  the  noble  passion  that  prompts  self- 
sacrifice." 

"You  are,"  said  Joseph,  "you  sacrificed  the 
best  the  world  could  give  you  for  an  idea " 

"Which,  I  regret  to  say,  was  foolish,  criminal," 
the  Professor  rejoined. 

"But  you  would  do  it  again,"  said  Joseph. 

The  Professor  was  silent. 

"And  you  would  be  right,"  Joseph  added. 

"I  think  it  was  and  would  be  extremely 
wrong,"  cried  Merau;  "I  argued  with  him  then 
as  he  argues  with  you  now.  One  ought  not  to 
run  away  from,  happiness  for  the  sake  of  a  chi- 
mera, and  you  ought  not,  Yushu." 

"I  can  promise  you  I  shall  not  run  away,  at 

253 


Children  of  Fate. 

least  not  from  this  girl  who  pleases  me  very 
much;  but,  then — ^well,  gentlemen,"  he  cried  al- 
most gaily,  "I  see  by  my  watch,  for  your  clock, 
Pan  Jean,  has  stopped,  that  I  am  remiss  in  my 
duty ;  I  beg  you  will  excuse  me,  I  must  go." 

"Will  you  not  stay  and  lunch  with  me  ?"  asked 
Merau. 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you,"  said  Joseph,  and, 
shaking  hands  with  them,  he  left  the  room. 

As  he  descended  the  stairs,  sigh  after  sigh  es- 
caj>ed  his  lips. 

"You  shall  never  know,  dear  love,  what  it  costs 
me  to  keep  your  life  from  the  misery  of  being 
chained  to  mine." 

He  had  unconsciously  spoken  aloud,  and  the 
sound  of  his  words  frightened  him.  He  ran  down 
the  stairs  and  felt  a  sort  of  relief  as  the  fresh  air 
blew  in  his  face. 


254 


CHAPTER  III. 

AFTER  THE  DUEL. 

Shortly  after  Joseph  had  gone,  the  Professor, 
too,  went  away.  It  was  his  intention  to  talk  seri- 
ously to  Joseph.  He  thought  it  wrong  to  be 
silent  in  the  face  of  such  obstinacy ;  for  he  con- 
sidered Joseph's  attitude  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  symptom  of  a  disordered  mind,  and  he  be- 
lieved it  his  duty  to  cure  the  malady,  or  at  least 
oppose  Joseph's  resolution  with  all  his  might. 

Joseph  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  Professor 
went  to  the  hospital  and  he  learned  that  Joseph 
had  been  there,  but  had  left.  He  was  forced  to 
go  home  and  wait  for  his  nephew.  He  was 
greatly  perturbed  and  had  a  strong  foreboding  of 
evil. 

"At  times  one  has  to  cut  away  a  limb  to  save 
a  life ;  I  shall  speak  to  him  even  if  I  have  to  of- 
fend him,"  he  murmured. 

But  the  word  sounded  harsh  to  him. 

"Offend !  I  could  never  do  such  a  thing ;  but  I 
shall  plead  with  him." 

"Whom  will  you  plead  with,  Daniel?"  asked 
Mrs.  Rosen,  putting  her  arm  around  the  Pro- 
fessor's neck. 

"With  Joseph,"  he  replied. 

"Why?  What  for?  What  has  happened?" 
cried  Mrs.  Rosen. 

255 


Children  of  Fate. 

"I  want  him  to  marry." 

''Marry !  Is  there  a  woman  in  this  world  good 
enough  for  my  son?"  she  said,  and  the  truth 
sounded  even  clearer  in  her  maternal  pride. 

''I  met  an  American  girl  at  Merau's  studio 
who,  I  think,  would  be  the  ideal  wife  for  him. 
She  is  beautiful,  distinguished,  and  of  evident  re- 
finement." 

"A  Jewess?" 

"Yes ;  by  the  way,  she  is  a  namesake  of  yours, 
Beatrice  Rosen." 

"Americans,  Rosen!  I  wonder  if  it  is  our 
Rosen.  Why  did  you  not  find  out?"  asked  Mrs. 
Rosen. 

"My  dear,  what  with  the  claims  of  the  effer- 
vescent Epstein  and  dear  old  Jean,  and  the  atten- 
tion I  paid  to  the  pretty  girl  as  she  conversed 
with  Joseph,  there  was  no  time  to  find  out  any- 
thing; but  I  understand  that  she  is  a  relative  of 
the  banker.  When  she  had  gone  Joseoh  was  like 
a  man  in  a  dream;  she  had  evidently  made  an 
impression  on  him.  But  I  am  afraid  of  his  ideas. 
If  I  only  had  him  here  now  I  would  give  him  a 
good  talking  to." 

At  that  moment,  however,  Joseph  was  not 
even  in  Warsaw.  Instead  of  Joseph  there  came 
a  note  in  which  he  stated  that  he  had  been  called 
to  Praga  and  would  not  be  home  until  late. 

The  Professor  sighed  deeply. 

"One  might  battle  against  a  crude,  brutal 
force,"  he  said,  "but  I  confess  my  inability  to 

256 


€ 


After  the  Duel. 

cope  with  this  mysterious  and  subtle  power  of 
his." 

"Do  not  worry,  dear,"  Mrs.  Rosen  rejoined, 
"he  knows  best." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  sister ;  do  you  mean 
that  you  would  encourage  him  in  his  irrational 
surrender  of  the  best  this  world  affords?  He 
owes  something  to  you,  to  me,  to  the  world  in 
which  he  lives,"  he  cried  with  trembling  voice. 
"You  have  lost  the  greater  part  of  your  life ;  I 
lost  the  best  years  of  mine  in  misery,  in  sorrow, 
and  in  sadness,  and  now  that  we  have  the  chance 
to  see  the  latter  part  of  our  lives  lightened  by  a 
gleam  of  happiness,  this  young  man,  this  strange 
reproduction  of  an  ancient  and  fabled  person- 
ality, wants  to  envelop  us  both  in  the  gloom  of 
self-abnegation  and  to  burden  me  with  the  curse 
of  outliving  him.  It  is  horrible,  sister,  horrible !" 
he  cried. 

"Daniel,  dear,  do  not  give  way  to  such 
thoughts.  If  it  be  the  will  of  God,  then  Joseph 
will  fulfill  your  dearest  wishes ;  if  not,  we  must 
be  obedient.  I  have  never  opposed  my  will  to 
that  of  my  dear  son  and  all  has  gone  well.  Let 
us  be  patient." 

Her  gentle  words  and  her  evident  fortitude 
calmed  the  Professor;  he  was  half  ashamed  of 
his  own  unbelief,  and  as  he  led  his  sister  to  the 
dining-room  he  inwardly  promised  himself  to 
mend  his  ways  and  try  to  attain  to  something  of 
that  faith    which    appeared  to    make  the    weak 


257 


Children  of  Fate. 

strong  and  inspire  the  gentle  of  heart  with  cour- 
age to  bear  misfortune  calmly. 

When  dinner  was  over  he  went  to  the  library, 
lit  a  cigar,  and  took  up  a  book.  He  repeated  over 
and  over  again  the  words  of  his  sister,  "I  have 
never  opposed  my  will  to  that  of  my  dear  son 
and  all  has  gone  well."  **My  dear  boy,"  he  mur- 
mured, "I  will  not  fall  short  of  that  faith,  come 
what  may." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Vladislav 
announced  Count  Waldeck  de  Lack. 

The  Professor  greeted  Waldeck  cordially,  but 
was  surprised  to  note  his  haggard  appearance. 

"The  festivities  in  the  country  have  had  a  bad 
effect  on  your  lordship,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"I  came  here  to  ask  your  advice  and  assistance 
in  a  serious  affair." 

"A  duel,  I  suppose." 

"A  duel." 

"Fought?" 

"Fought  this  afternoon." 

"Then  your  antagonist  is  either  dead  or  in  bed 
— in  either  case  you  are  the  better  of  the  two. 
Who  was  your  antagonist?" 

"Colonel  Vladimir  de  Prussnitzki  of  the  Pul- 
tava  regiment." 

The  Professor  started. 

"This  is  a  serious  affair,"  he  said. 

"I  appreciate  its  gravity,  but  would  care  little 
were  it  not  that  it  involves  Joseph." 

The  Professor  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  cried. 
258 


After  the  Duel. 

"Joseph  was  arrested  and  taken  to  Praga." 

The  Professor  sank  into  the  chair  as  if  struck 
down.  A  moment  later  he  sprang  up  again,  his 
eyes  flashing. 

"How  did  it  happen?  What  has  my  boy  in 
common  with  you,  with  your  savage  brawls? 
How  dared  you  involve  him?    Speak!" 

"I  swear  to  you  that  he  is  innocent  and  knew 
nothing  of  my  action  until  he  unfortunately  ar- 
rived upon  the  scene,"  said  Waldeck. 

"And  then  ?"  asked  the  Professor  less  harshly. 

"There  was  an  accident." 

"How?" 

"My  antagonist  cried,  The  Jew',  and  before  I 
knew  it  I  had  run  him  through.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  like  one  transfixed,  then  he  fell.  I 
turned  and  saw  Joseph.  I  was  so  unnerved  at 
the  sight  of  him  that  I  trembled  in  every  limb. 
He  at  once  examined  the  wounded  man  and  told 
me  to  get  a  carriage.  I  hastened  away  and  when 
I  returned  both  had  disappeared.  The  park 
watchman  told  me  that  a  number  of  officers 
riding  by  had  ordered  the  policeman  to  take  Jo- 
seph and  the  wounded  man  to  Praga.  I  am  will- 
ing to  deliver  myself  into  the  hands  of  the  com- 
mandant." 

Professor  Horovitz  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"The  affair  is  less  dangerous  than  it  at  first  ap- 
peared," he  said.    "You  had  seconds,  of  course." 

"No;  I  struck  the  Colonel,  we  at  once  retired 
to  the  little  birch  wood  in  the  Lazienki  and 
fought." 

259 


Children  of  Fate. 

"That  makes  the  matter  more  serious.  What 
caused  the  trouble?    A  woman,  I  suppose." 

"I  avenged  an  insult  to  one,"  Waldeck  some- 
what coldly  replied. 

"Any  particular  woman?" 

"My  cousin,  Miss  Beatrice  Rosen." 

"The  American  girl  who  visits  the  Epsteins?" 
cried  the  Professor  excitedly. 

"The  same ;  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  have 
the  honour  of  her  acquaintance,"  said  Waldeck. 

But  the  Professor  appeared  not  to  have  heard 
the  remark.  His  brow  was  clouded,  a  great  sad- 
ness had  suddenly  come  ov^r  him. 

"What  new  troubles  are  in  store  for  us?"  he 
murmured. 

Waldeck,  who  thought  only  of  his  immediate 
trouble,  could  not  conceive  that  anyone  beside 
himself  could  possibly  be  involved  in  this  matter. 

"They  cannot  possibly  hold  Joseph  responsible 
for  an  act  in  which  he  had  not  the  least  concern, 
and  I  am  willing  to  bear  the  consequences.  Come, 
my  carriage  is  at  the  door,  let  us  drive  to 
Praga,"  he  said. 

The  Professor  made  no  response ;  he  took  his 
hat  and  cane  and  followed  Waldeck  to  the  car- 
riage. 


260 


CHAPTER  IV. 

JEALOUSY. 

The  Commandant,  a  fat,  bearded,  jolly-faced 
Russian,  was  taking  his  after  dinner  vutki  in 
company  with  several  officers,  but  when  the  Pro- 
fessor's card  was  handed  to  him  he  excused  him- 
self to  his  guests  and  went  into  the  adjoining 
room  where  Waldeck  and  the  Professor  awaited 
him.    He  greeted  the  latter  cordially. 

"You  are  in  time  to  have  a  quiet  glass  with  a 
few  earth  born  Russians,"  he  said. 

"A  thousand  times  obliged,  my  Commandant ; 
but  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me  for  to-night.  I  came 
here  to  plead  for  my  young  friend,  the  Count  de 
Lack,  and  to  get  my  nephew  out  of  your 
clutches." 

"Nothing  would  have  given  me  greater  pleas- 
ure than  to  keep  your  nephew  here ;  for  though 
I  could  not  induce  him  to  take  dinner  with  me, 
I  had  at  least  the  benefit  of  a  talk  with  him.  It 
was  all  a  mistake.  The  officers  were  under  the 
impression  that  the  Colonel  had  been  attacked  by 
your  nephew,  and  arrested  him.  He  explained 
and  I  sent  him  away  with  regret." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  the  Professor,  taking  the 
Commandant's  hand.  "Let  me  hope  you  will  be 
equally  gracious  with  my  young  friend  here." 

"As  he  has  you  for  an  advocate,  the  Count  is 
at  liberty  to  follow  up  his  gallant  affair;  but  I 
261 


Children  of  Fate. 

should  warn  his  lordship  against  another  attack 
upon  a  Russian  officer,  for  such  we  must  con- 
sider it  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  duel  was 
fought  without  seconds.  I  do  not  care  to  have 
our  officers  brought  to  the  alternative  of  commit- 
ting suicide  or  quitting  the  army  for  fighting  ir- 
regular duels.  I  have  prepared  a  statement  for 
the  'Daily  Courier'  which  will  anticipate  any  dis- 
agreeable talk  and  I  trust  the  noble  Count  will 
in  the  future  be  less  eager  to  fight." 

Waldeck  found  but  little  satisfaction  in  the 
Commandant's  words.  He  recognised  that  he 
had  escaped  actual  disgrace  only  through  the 
powerful  influence  of  the  Professor.  Three 
things  were  obvious  to  him:  He  had  accom- 
plished nothing  in  the  way  of  finding  Beatrice's 
cousin;  he  had  caused  his  friend  great  incon- 
venience, and  he  had  barely  missed  making  the 
woman  he  loved  notorious. 

He  went  back  to  his  hotel  with  the  firm  inten- 
tion of  leaving  Poland  the  very  next  day  and 
joining  his  parents  at  Interlaken,  where  they  and 
the  Baroness  Levanovska  were  staying. 

When  he  got  to  his  room  he  found  two  notes 
awaiting  him.  One  was  from  Joseph ;  he  opened 
it  at  once,  and  read : 

"I  have  no  reproaches  for  a  man  who  protects 
a  woman's  honour.  De  Prussnitzki  will  live  and, 
I  hope,  repent.  I  have  asked  permission  to  visit 
him.    You  must  do  the  same.  Joseph." 

"He  has  the  heart  of  a  hero  and  the  soul  of  a 

262 


'  Jealousy.  ' 

saint,"  he  murmured,  and  opened  the  second  note. 
It  was  from  his  mother : 

"Dushki : 

"We  are  coming  home  as  fast  as  the  train  will 
take  us.  I  am  half  sorry  to  go  back  to  Poland 
at  this  time  of  the  season,  but  Amanda  is  ill  and 
wants  to  be  at  home.  We  cannot  let  her  travel 
alone.  Please  engage  apartments  at  the  Hotel 
de  TEurope. 

"A  million  kisses  from  Your 

*'Mamma." 

"Well,  fate  decrees  that  I  shall  not  escape  ex- 
planations, so  I  shall  stay  in  Warsaw,  devote  my- 
self to  my  beautiful  cousin,  visit  my  sick  antago- 
nist and  be  as  miserable  as  a  man  can  be  who 
loves  hopelessly.  I  do  not  wish  this  cousin  of  hers, 
Joseph  (who  may  be  a  myth),  any  harm,  but 
I  wish  he  would  come  forth  to  disillusion  Bea- 
trice," he  said  to  himself,  and  rang  for  his  valet. 

"Take  a  drushki,  drive  to  Professor  Horo- 
vitz's  house,  and  request  Mr.  Joseph  Horovitz  to 
meet  me  at  the  club  to-morrow  between  ten  and 
eleven  in  the  forenoon." 

Joseph  was  not  at  home,  the  valet  reported,  and 
the  Professor's  servant  could  not  tell  when  he 
would  be  back. 

On  the  following  morning  Waldeck  again  sent 
to  the  Professor's  house  and  received  the  same 
reply.  Then  he  went  out  to  hunt  for  Joseph,  but 
failed  to  find  him.  "He  left  only  a  few  minutes 
ago,"  was  the  answer  he  received  at  all  the  places 
263 


Children  of  Fate. 

where  as  a  rule  he  was  certain  to  find  him.  In 
the  evening  he  sent  a  note  to  Joseph,  but  on  hear- 
ing that  Joseph  was  still  "not  at  home"  a  terrible 
fury  seized  him. 

*'You  are  stupid,"  he  cried  to  his  servant. 
"Can't  you  find  out  when  he  will  be  at  home  ?" 

Of  a  sudden  it  struck  him  that  Joseph  might 
desire  to  avoid  him ;  but  he  called  himself  stupid 
for  the  thought. 

"Why,  he  is  my  best  friend,"  he  reflected. 
"But  do  not  forget  that  you  met  him  once  in 
the  Lazienki   with  Beatrice   and   Ella,"  said  the 
little  demon  that  was  torturing  his  soul. 

"That  argues  absolutely  nothing;  he  is  a  man 
and  a  gentleman    and  it   would  only    require    a 

word  from  me " 

"The  eloquence  of  a  Demosthenes  would  fail 
to  argue  passion  out  of  a  human  heart ;  and  the 
more  of  a  man  and  a  gentleman  one  is,  the  more 
intense  is  the  passion  when  it  once  has  taken 
possession  of  the  heart,"  the  harrowing  demon 
continued. 

"Bah,  he  is  a  saint  with  a  mind  bent  on  charity, 
on  the  sick  and  the  poor." 

"Very  true,"  the  torturer  suggested,  giving  a 
deeper  dig,  "but  he  is  a  very  handsome  saint; 
women  go  mad  over  that  sort  of  saint,  they  yield 
their  virtue  and  their  honour  to  such  men ;  they 
become  either  angels  or  devils  for  the  sake  of 
such  saints.  Then,  too,  he  is  very  clever,  very 
eloquent,  highly  connected,  and  he  and  she  are  of 

the  same  faith  and " 

264 


Jealousy. 

"Be  silent,  I  say!  A  thousand  devils!"  he 
cried,  springing  to  his  feet. 

His  eyes  gleamed  wildly,  his  tortured  soul  was 
filled  with  madness.  Forgotten  was  his  promise 
to  Howard  Rosen,  forgotten  also  was  his  love 
for  his  friend ;  all  he  thought  of  was  the  woman 
he  loved,  and  that  another  might  take  her  from 
him,  had  possibly  taken  her  already.  Obsessed 
by  this  idea,  he  ran  up  and  down  the  room  like  a 
caged  beast.  He  tore  his  hair,  he  cried  and 
moaned  by  turns ;  he  stood  still  and  glared  va- 
cantly, then  ran  as  if  all  the  furies  were  after 
him.  He  was  love-mad,  he  had  made  himself 
mad  by  his  super-sensitiveness.  He  was,  after 
all,  young,  proud,  rich,  and  an  aristocrat.  In 
him  at  that  moment  flamed  fiercely  the  tempera- 
ment of  his  race,  a  race  that  for  centuries  fought 
and  defeated  the  Asiatic  hordes ;  that  fell,  but 
rose  again,  always  fighting,  never  resting,  hoping 
against  hope.  At  that  moment,  too,  he  recalled 
that  his  rival  was  a  Jew,  a  man  of  a  race  that 
his  forefathers  had  treated  like  savages,  whom 
they  slaughtered  without  mercy,  without  com- 
punction, a  race  considered  at  one  time  too  low 
to  be  regarded  as  human:  one  of  this  race  tried 
to  take  from  him  the  best  thing  in  the  world! 
The  fire  of  pride  and  passion  blazed  within  him, 
and  with  a  cry  that  but  faintly  expressed  his  dis- 
tress, he  threw  himself  down  and  hid  his  head 
in  his  hands. 


265 


!  CHAPTER  V. 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  BANKER. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing?"  cried 
Mr.  Epstein.    "To  fight  a  duel  in  a  pubhc  park !" 

"Who  fought  it,  papa?"  asked  Ella,  sipping 
her  morning  coffee. 

"Who  but  this  young  lady's  dear  cousin,  Count 
Waldeck,  and  Colonel  de  Prussnitzki !  Here  it  is, 
black  on  white,  in  the  Courier,"  he  replied. 
"Don't  let  Mamma  know  it,  she  is  not  well  and 
I  do  not  want  her  to  get  excited  on  account  of 
all  this  foolishness,"  he  added. 

Beatrice  and  Ella  looked  at  each  other,  the 
former  blushing,  the  latter  smiling. 

"Let  us  see  the  paper,  papa,"  said  Ella. 

"Never  mind  the  paper.  You  youngsters  eat 
your  breakfast  and  get  out  for  a  ride  or  a  drive," 
he  cried. 

"Now  we  shall  not  stir  if  you  do  not  give  us 
the  paper  or  read  the  whole  story  to  us ;  shall  we, 
Beatrice?"  said  Ella. 

"Wha-what,  rebellion!  By  the  beard  of  a 
Tartar,  rebellion  in  my  own  house!  And  you. 
Miss  New  York,  do  you  dare  to  tacitly  encour- 
age this  little  rebel  ?" 

"Well,  you  might  read  the  story,  uncle  Ep- 
stein, and  prevent  rebellion  and  a  possible 
change  in  the  administration,'*  Beatrice  rejoined. 
266 


The  Heart  of  the  Banker. 

"A  wise  man  knows  when  to  submit,"  said  the 
banker.    "Now,  listen : 

"  The  DAILY  COURIER  was  honoured  with 
authoritative  information  concerning  a  duel  that 
took  place  yesterday  afternoon  at  the  Lazienki 
between  the  noble  lord  of  Vielga,  Count  Waldeck 
de  Lack,  son  and  heir  to  the  Count  Cassimir  de 
Lack,  Imperial  Councillor  to  His  Imperial  Maj- 
esty the  Czar,  and  the  Colonel  Vladimir  de 
Prussnitzki  of  the  Pultava  regiment  stationed  at 
the  fortress  of  Praga " 

"Get  your  breath,  uncle  Epstein,  if  there  is 
more  of  that  sentence,"  cried  Beatrice,  for  the 
moment  forgetting  her  interest  in  the  story  in 
her  amusement  at  the  formality  and  length  of 
the  introduction  to  a  simple  statement  of  fact. 

"I  suppose  they  have  a  different  way  of  saying 
things  over  there  in  New  York,"  said  the  banker 
slowly. 

"Yes,  very  different;  but  I  do  beg  your  par- 
don, uncle  Epstein,  for  the  interruption,"  said 
Beatrice,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"Granted,  Miss  New  York,"  said  Ella,  imita- 
ting her  father.  "Now  continue  with  the  story, 
father  dear,  and  don't  laugh  your  two  selves  into 
hysterics." 

Beatrice  and  Epstein  were  laughing  heartily  at 
Ella's  imitation  of  her  father.  At  last  the  banker 
composed  himself  and  read : 

"  The  Colonel  was  seriously  but  not  danger- 
ously wounded,  and  is  now  confined  to  his  bed  in 
his  apartment  at  Praga.  The  seconds,  so  the  in- 
267 


Children  of  Fate. 

formation  is  given  out,  were  Mr.  Joseph  Horo- 
vitz,  nephew  of  our  famous  townsman,  Professor 
Baron  von  Horovitz,  and  one  of  the  Park  watch- 
men. We  do  not  permit  ourselves  to  make  any 
comment  on  the  affair,  but  we  shall  await  devel- 
opments and  give  the  news  to  the  public  as  soon 
as  we  are  permitted  to  do  so." 

"You  do  not  mean  that  the  editor  actually 
wrote  that?"  asked  Beatrice. 

"Wrote  what?" 

"That  he  would  give  the  news  to  the  public  as 
soon  as  he  were  permitted  to  do  so !" 

"Of  course  he  wrote  it,  and  meant  it,  too.  If 
he  did  otherwise  his  paper  would  be  confiscated 
and  he  himself  marched  off  to  Siberia,"  said  the 
banker. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  that  this  is  not  America,"  said 
Beatrice. 

"No,  this  is  not  America,"  said  Epstein,  "and 
people  here  must  be  very  careful  what  they  say, 
unless,"  he  added  with  a  sigh,  "they  have  as 
much  money  as  your  father  or  stand  as  high  as 
the  Count  de  Lack,  then  they  can  do  as  they 
please." 

"But  my  papa  does  what  is  right  and  he  surely 
does  not  need  to  be  afraid  of  anybody,"  Beatrice 
rejoined. 

"The  Government  may  be  of  a  different  opin- 
ion," said  the  banker. 

"How?"  asked  Beatrice. 

"The  Government  may  not  desire  the  humble 

268 


The  Heart  of  the  Banker. 

folk  in  the  country  to  know  too  much.  Your 
father  builds  schools " 

"He  does  with  the  consent  of  the  Governor  of 
Plotzk,"  interrupted  Beatrice. 

"Certainly,  certainly;  and  he  gives  right  and 
left  and  makes  it  easy  for  the  tax  gatherers  to 
get  their  money  from  the  people,  and  has  estab- 
lished a  newspaper  agency  in  Dobrzyn ;  he  does 
all  this  with  the  consent  of  the  Governor,  cer- 
tainly, but  if  he  had  not  so  much  money  he  could 
not  get  the  consent  of  the  Governor,"  said  the 
banker. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  Government 
would  have  any  objection  to  a  man  giving  money 
to  the  people  to  better  their  condition?"  cried 
Beatrice. 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  do  mean.  The  Gov- 
ernment undertakes  to  direct  all  the  activity  of 
its  subjects  in  this  country.  It  says  that  there 
shall  be  an  orphan  asylum  in  Plotzk,  a  home  for 
the  aged  in  Vlotzlavek,  an  industrial  school  in 
Warsaw.  Your  father  has  built  these  institutions 
in  Dobrzyn.  He  has  virtually  acted  against  the 
will  and  the  intent  of  the  Government.  In  an  or- 
dinary case  the  Government  would  say,  'You  de- 
sire to  spend  a  million  roubles  in  endowments  of 
this  kind;  you  will  please  to  hand  over  this  sum 
to  the  authorities,  and  if  they  deem  it  advisable 
to  employ  the  funds  as  you  suggest,  well  and 
good ;  if  not,  they  may  spend  it  in  the  paving  of 
streets  or  the  buying  of  guns,  because  a  paternal 

269 


Children  of  Fate. 

Government  knows,  or  it  thinks  it  knows,  what  is 
best  for  its  country/  " 

Beatrice  was  bewildered. 

"But  this  is  horrible/'  she  cried. 

"You  think  so?''  asked  the  banker. 

"I  do ;  I  think  people  ought  to  have  the  right 
to  spend  their  money  as  they  please,"  she  re- 
joined. 

"So  they  have.  A  man  may  gamble  away  his 
fortune,  he  may  even  throw  it  away,  and  the 
Government  will  not  say  a  word ;  but  when  he 
presumes  to  the  right  to  act  as  a  little  Providence 
in  the  life  of  a  people  every  individual  of  which 
is  a  subject,  body  and  soul,  of  the  Emperor  of 
Russia,  that  man  must  have  the  consent  of  the 
master  of  the  land.  It  is  as  if  a  man  were  to 
come  to  my  house  and  tell  me  to  feed  my  servants 
on  plovers'  eggs  and  spring  chickens,  and  offered 
me  the  money  to  do  so.  I  should  very  probably 
tell  him  to  go  to  Jericho  or  to  leave  the  money  in 
my  hands  for  me  to  do  what  I  pleased  with  it.  It 
is  very  simple,"  the  banker  said  and  smiled  sar- 
castically at  Beatrice. 

"It  may  be  very  simple,  but  I  do  not  subscribe 
to  it  and  I  am  glad  that  papa  can  do  as  he 
pleases,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"Money  is  a  mighty  agent  in  any  country ;  in 
Russia  it  is  all  powerful.  Now,  take  this  affair 
of  the  duel.  Any  person  other  than  Count  Wal- 
deck  de  Lack  would  have  paid  dearly  for  fight- 
ing in  a  public  park.  But  here  is  the  great  Count 
on  one  side  and  a  high  Russian  officer  on  the 
270 


The  Heart  of  the  Banker. 

other  side,  and  the  matter  not  only  is  not  con- 
sidered in  the  light  of  an  offense,  but  I'll  wager 
that  the  Commandant  himself  or  the  Governor 
General  gave  the  information  to  the  Courier," 
said  the  banker,  putting  on  his  glasses  to  read  his 
paper. 

Suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry,  his  face  turned 
purple. 

"What  is  this?"  he  cried.  "Is  this  true?  Tell 
me,  Ella,  is  it  true?" 

He  handed  the  paper  over  to  his  daughter  and 
as  she  read,  her  face  paled. 

"  'Later  and  equally  reliable  information  shows 
that  the  cause  of  the  trouble  between  the  Count 
and  the  Colonel  was  the  daughter  of  a  Jewish 
banker  whose  persistent  efforts  to  invade  the 
field  of  our  aristocracy  are  evidently  nearing 
their  desired  end,  considering  that  he  has  found 
so  noble  a  champion  as  the  Count  de  Lack.  We 
assume  that  the  noble  lord  of  Vielga  was  a  little 
too  hasty,  as  the  Colonel  de  Prussnitzki  is  too 
gallant  an  officer  to  publicly  insult  even  a 
Jewess.' 

"The  postscript  is  false  in  every  detail,"  she 
said,  handing  back  the  paper.  "I  was  not  insult- 
ed and  neither  Beatrice  nor  I  saw  the  Count  yes- 
terday." 

"Well,  something  must  be  true  in  this  notice ; 
what  is  it?"  he  cried. 

Ella  looked  questioningly  at  Beatrice,  and  as 
the  latter  inclined  her  head  affirmatively,  Ella 
said: 

271 


Children  of  Fate. 

"The  innocent  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  that  is, 
between  Beatrice  and  the  officer,  was  Mr.  Horo- 
vitz." 

"Mr.  Horovitz!"  cried  the  Banker,  gasping. 
"Impossible!  Why,  I  would  stake  my  fortune 
on  that  young  man's  honour.  How  did  he  come 
to  cause  trouble?" 

"He  never  said  a  word  that  was  not  absolutely 
correct;  although  what  took  place  between  him 
and  the  Colonel  ought  to  have  induced  the  latter 
to  fight  with  Mr.  Horovitz  and  not  with  Count 
Waldeck,  as  he  was  not  even  upon  the  scene," 
said  Ella. 

"That  does  not  explain  anything.  I  asked  how 
the  trouble  originated  and  why,"  cried  Epstein. 

"Well,  we  were  near  the  Casino,  directly  be- 
hind the  botanical  garden,  when  we  saw  Mr. 
Horovitz  coming  toward  us." 

"Please  excuse  me,"  said  Beatrice,  and,  rising, 
she  went  from  the  room. 

"The  trouble  evidently  lies  there,"  said  the 
Banker  in  an  undertone. 

"I  am  certain  she  is  in  love  with  him." 

"With  whom?"  cried  Epstein. 

"With  Joseph— Mr.  Horovitz." 

The  banker  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  thought  you  meant  with  the  Count,"  he 
said. 

"Oh,  no ;  she  looks  upon  him  merely  as  a  rela- 
tion. But  Mr.  Hbrovitz — well,  when  he  ap- 
proached she  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns.  Then 
she  said,  'Do  you  know,  Ella,  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
272 


The  Heart  of  the  Banker. 

I  had  known  him  all  my  life/  Then,  for  the  first 
time  I  had  the  idea  that  she  might  be  in  love  with 
him.  'Don't  be  a  goose/  I  said,  'why,  you  have 
seen  him  only  once.' 

"  'Yes,'  said  she,  and  he  is  the  most  glorious 
man  I  have  ever  seen.' 

"  'He  is  certainly  a  splendid  man,  but  by  the 
way  you  speak  of  him  one  would  think  you  were 
in  love  with  him,'  I  answered. 

"She  put  her  hand  on  my  mouth,  and  before  I 
could  say  another  word  he  stood  before  us." 

"Gracious  me,  daughter,  don't  give  me  a  novel 
in  three  volumes ;  tell  me  quickly  what  hap- 
pened," cried  her  father. 

"Don't  be  so  impatient,  papa.  I  have  my  own 
way  of  telling  the  story  and  you  must  listen. 
Well,  he  looked  like  a  different  man  from  the  one 
we  used  to  know.  He  smiled  so  beautifully  that 
I  almost  fell  in  love  with  him  myself.  However, 
I  bethought  me  quickly  that  nothing-  short  of  an 
artistocrat  would  do  for  my  father's  daughter,  so 
I  smothered  my  feelings,  looked  at  him  meekly 
and  enjoyed  the  sunshine  of  his  smile." 

"Then  what  happened?"  asked  the  banker. 

"What  then  happened  appears  more  strange 
to  me  now,  as  I  think  of  it,  than  when  it  actually 
took  place.  The  Colonel  came  out  from  the 
flower  house  with  a  big  bunch  of  La  France  roses 
in  his  hand.  When  he  saw  us  he  stopped;  then 
he  walked  up  to  us,  and  touching  Mr.  Horovitz 
with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  said : 

"  'Do  we  meet  again,  Jew  ?' 

273 


Children  of  Fate. 

"Mr.  Horovitz  looked  at  him  calmly. 

"  'Yes,  Colonel,'  he  said. 

"Is  this  blonde  another  of  the  women  you  are 
leading  away  from  evil?' 

"  *If  you  intend  to  stay  here.  Colonel,'  was  the 
answer. 

"The  Colonel  pushed  Joseph  away  and  pre- 
sented the  flowers  to  Beatrice;  but  she  refused 
them,  and  taking  my  arm  tried  to  cross  the  road. 
He  kept  pace  with  us.  Beatrice  looked  in  the 
direction  of  Joseph,  who  was  following,  and 
when  the  Colonel  took  hold  of  her  arm  and  said, 
'Beautiful  Jewess,  take  the  flowers,'  she  cried 
out,  'Mr.  Horovitz!'  He  was  with  us  in  a  mo- 
ment and  taking  the  Colonel  by  tHe  shoulders  he 
spun  him  around  like  a  top.  I  almost  pitied  the 
Colonel  as  he  lay  sprawling  in  the  dust.  Mr. 
Horovitz  hurried  us  away  and,  hailing  a  passing 
drushki,  put  us  into  it. 

"  'Come  with  us,  Mr.  Hbrovitz,  he  will  kill 
you,'  Beatrice  cried. 

"  'He  will  not ;  he  does  not  kill  men,'  he  said 
and  smiled. 

"I  know  she  loves  him,  papa,  and — and — they 
are  so  well  matched,"  she  said  and  burst  out 
crying. 

Something  in  the  heart  of  the  banker  stirred ; 
he  laid  his  hand  on  his  daughter's  arm. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "there  is  nothing  in 

this  world  that  I  would  deny  you  if  it  were  in  my 

power  to  give ;  I  would  even  forego  my  own  long 

cherished  ambition  if    thereby    I    might    secure 

274 


The  Heart  of  the  Banker. 

your  happiness.  But  reflect  that  if  Beatrice  loves 
him  and  he  loves  her,  nothing  can  possibly  be 
done,  and,  dearest  EUinka,"  he  said,  stroking  her 
hair,  "I  never  imagined — if  I  had  only  known — " 

Ella  sobbed ;  her  father's  gentleness,  the  fact 
that  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  his  fancy  for  her 
happiness,  touched  her  most  deeply. 

"Don't  cry,  Ellinka,"  he  continued,  and  the 
tears  stole  into  his  eyes.  "Don't  break  your 
father's  heart;  be  my  own  brave  lass.  We  all 
have  our  wishes  and  desires,  but  we  must  be 
brave  when  we  are  forced  to  deny  ourselves. 
Your  father  may  have  had  desires  and  wishes  of 
his  own  which  he  could  not  realize ;  be  brave,  my 
own  little  girl." 

Ella  sprang  up  and,  smiling  through  her  tears, 
put  her  hands  on  her  father's  cheeks. 

"You  dear,  darling  old  papa,  don't  worry,  I'll 
be  good,"  she  said  and,  kissing  him  on  the  fore- 
head, ran  from  the  room. 


275 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MISTAKEN  IDENTITY. 

Beatrice  had  gone  to  her  room  to  hide  her 
emotion. 

A  great  weight  burdened  her  heart. 

The  new  life  that  she  had  so  suddenly  entered 
appeared,  to  have  as  many  thorns  as  it  had  roses. 

Something  like  a  sense  of  treason  to  a  former 
ideal  insinuated  itself  and  caused  her  a  little 
compunction,  but  only  a  very  little.  While  a  man 
may  beguile  himself  with  the  idea  that  he  loves 
and  may  tell  a  woman  so  even  after  he  has 
ceased  to  love  her,  a  woman  is  quicker  to  show 
by  word  and  deed  that  she  has  transferred  her 
favour  to  other  quarters.  No  man  could  ever 
hope  to  be  so  decided  in  his  fiickleness,  so  frank 
and  outspoken  as  a  woman  can  be  when  her 
fancy,  butterfly-like,  lights  on  a  fresh  flower. 

Beatrice's  emotion,  therefore,  did  not  flow 
from  a  heart  surcharged  with  grief  at  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  vision  that  for  years  had  dwelt  in 
her  soul ;  nor  did  she  feel  any  sense  of  shame  at 
being  detected  in  an  act  of  imagined  "faithless- 
ness". She  had  talked  so  much  to  Ella  Epstein 
about  that  mysterious  and  wonderful  cousin,  that 
Ella  had  said : 

"I  think,  Beatrice,  that  you  are  a  little  bit  in 
love  with  your  cousin." 

276 


Mistaken  Identity. 

"Hush,  Ellinka!  How  can  anyone  be  in  love 
with  a  person  one  has  never  seen  ?"  Beatrice  said. 

"Really  you  are  innocent,"  said  Ella.  "As 
Mitchkievich  has  sung: 

"If  thou  wert  not  a  dream  to  me, 

Vd  press  my  burning  lips  to  thine. 
And  life  were  sweet  to  live  for  thee. 
Thou  dream-begotten  love  of  mine.' " 

The  new  ideal  had  put  Ella's  suggestion  com- 
pletely out  of  Beatrice's  mind.  She  had  not  now 
the  remotest  idea  why  her  friend  should  so 
charmingly  insist  that  she  should  be  true  to  her 
former  ideal.  The  tangibility  of  the  one  she  be- 
held was  too  potent  to  leave  thought  or  feeling 
for  any  other.  She  felt  herself  bound  hand  and 
foot,  heart  and  soul.  Analysis  of  her  feelings 
seemed  impossible.  She  was  not  even  mistress 
of  her  thoughts.  All  she  knew  was  that  she 
must  yield  to  that  gentle  force  that  tugged  at  her 
heart-strings.  The  publicity  caused  by  the  inci- 
dent with  the  Colonel  in  the  Park  dismayed  her, 
but  Epstein's  vehement  assertion  of  his  faith  in 
Joseph  pleased  and  touched  her.  Still,  the  discus- 
sion that  forced  an  explanation  from  Ella  and 
was  bound  to  reveal  her  secret  to  the  banker, 
filled  her  with  shame.  She  had  left  the  room  not 
to  weep  in  remorse,  but  to  think  how  she  might 
act  to  bring  about  the  result  she  desired.  She 
felt  that  she  ought  to  act,  but  how? 

"You  ought  to  seek  his  closer  acquaintance  and 
277 


Children  of  Fate. 

gradually  show  him  that  you  love  him/'  said  her 
conscience. 

"If  it  were  not  so  utterly  unbecoming  I  would 
invite  him  to  come  here/'  she  murmured,  and  was 
startled  at  her  own  words. 

"That  is  exactly  what  you  ought  to  do/*  said 
conscience.  "There  is  a  splendid  pretext  for  it. 
You  might  easily  desire  to  know  how  he  came 
to  be  one  of  the  seconds  in  the  duel  between 
Count  Waldeck  and  the  Colonel.  The  quarrel 
was  on  your  account  and  you  have  a  right  to 
know." 

"I  will/'  said  Beatrice  to  herself,  and  the  blood 
iTLYiied  to  her  face  at  the  words;  she  felt  that 
she  must  not  yield  to  the  impulse. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  cried,  and  tears  came 
to  her  eyes  at  the  utter  helplessness  in  which  she 
found  herself. 

"I  will  write  to  papa,"  she  said  and  sat  down 
at  the  little  desk. 

A  knock  at  the  door  was  followed  by  the  en- 
trance of  Ella. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Dushka?"  Ella  cried, 
putting  her  arms  around  Beatrice's  neck. 

"Oh,  Ella,  I  am  so  miserable,"  said  Beatrice, 
and  hid  her  face  on  her  friend's  bosom. 

Ella  lulled  her  with  maternal  gentleness. 

"Don't  worry,  sweetheart.  You  ought  to  be 
very  happy.    I  know  that  he  loves  you,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Beatrice,  and  turned 
up  her  face  to  her  friend.    Joy  struggling  with 
doubt  shone  through  her  tears. 
278 


Mistaken  Identity. 

"I  am  certain/'  the  other  repHed,  and  her  voice 
trembled  as  she  spoke. 

"Why,  Ella,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are 
trembling.  Was  your  papa  very  severe?"  Bea- 
trice asked. 

"Papa  is  the  dearest,  kindest  man  on  earth, 
but  all  these  explanations  are  too  much  for  me. 
Come,  let  us  take  a  drive  in  the  Park  and  leave 
to  chance  what  is  beyond  our  control.  You  know 
these  matters  cannot  be  forced,"  said  E^la. 

Beatrice  burst  out  laughing. 

"To  hear  you  speak,  one  would  think  that  you 
were  an  old  woman  with  a  wonderful  amount  of 
experience,"  she  said. 

"Love  makes  one  wise,"  the  other  responded. 

"Are  you  in  love  ?" 

"I  ?    Oh,  no ;  but  one  learns  by  observation." 

"That  is  unkind  of  you,  Ella;  you  ought  to 
confide  in  me  as  I  am  confiding  in  you,"  said 
Beatrice,  little  thinking  that  she  had  in  fact  con- 
fided nothing  and  that  it  was  Ella's  suggestion 
rather  than  her  own  statement  which  let  the  other 
into  the  secret  of  her  thoughts. 

"My  dear,"  said  Ella,  "there  is  nothing  to  con- 
fide. I  am  not  a  fairy  princess  like  you.  My 
father  is  not  an  Aladdin  like  yours.  I  am  made 
of  ordinary  clay,  without  the  least  bit  of  romance 
in  my  composition.  Your  father  is  an  American, 
a  republican,  and  does  not  care  for  an  alliance 
with  the  nobility.  My  father  does,  and  I  must 
live  up  to  his  wishes.  When  he  has  found  the 
right  person  he  will  let  me  know  and  then  I  shall 
279 


Children  of  Fate. 

try  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  my  future 
husband.  It  has  been  drilled  into  me  ever  since 
I  came  from  the  convent.  To  act  contrary  to  my 
father's  plans  would  break  his  heart,  and  that  I 
would  never  do.  You  know  what  a  dear  he  is ; 
so  I  say  nothing,  I  live  and  take  things  as  they 
come  and  await  the  inevitable." 

Beatrice  had  listened  with  bated  breath.  It 
sounded  so  strange  to  her,  so  utterly  at  variance 
with  what  she  felt  and  thought,  that  she  but 
slowly  comprehended  the  burden  of  misery  that 
pressed  down  the  soul  of  this  sweet  girl.  Then 
she  recognised  that  her  friend  was  sacrificing 
herself  for  a  chimera,  for  something  that  had  no 
value  and  not  only  could  not  bring  happiness,  but 
might  become  unspeakable  agony  if  she  did  not 
marry  the  right  man.  Her  soul  went  out  to 
Ella. 

"Ellinka,"  she  cried,  *'you  ought  not  to  yield 
to  such  folly.  Your  father  has  no  right  to  sell 
you  to  satisfy  his  vanity." 

"Hush,  Beatrice,  he  does  nothing  of  the  sort 
and  never  will.  I  shall  have  my  choice  and  most 
certainly  shall  have  my  bit  of  love  making.  But 
I  shall  marry  none  but  an  aristocrat,  and  that  for 
two  reasons.  There  is  no  Jew  in  our  class  with 
whom  my  father  would  care  to  form  an  alliance, 
and  papa  expects  to  be  raised  to  the  nobility.  If 
the  Russian  Emperor  has  made  a  Baron  of  a 
trader  at  whose  shop  our  servants  used  to  buy 
brooms,  why  should  he  not  make  a  Baron  or 
Count  of  a  first  class  banker  who  has  done  a  con- 
280 


Mistaken  Identity. 

siderable  amount  for  commerce  and  the  com- 
munity? But  come,  we  have  wasted  enough 
time;  the  beautiful  morning  will  slip  away,  and 
then  it  will  be  too  hot  to  go  out,"  said  Ella. 

As  they  were  about  to  leave,  Epstein  called  to 
them. 

"Here,  you  little  butterflies,  here  is  some  good 
news  for  you,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it,  papa?  Tell  us  quickly,  we  are 
starving  for  a  bit  of  good  news." 

"There  will  be  a  public  reception  next  Monday 
at  the  house  of  Professor  Horovitz,  in  honor  of 
the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  his  doctorate.  On 
Sunday  he  will  give  a  dinner  to  a  few  friends. 
Mamma,  you,  and  I  are  invited,  and  Miss  New 
York  is  not — ^ah,  hem — "  he  said,  looking  at  Bea- 
trice, "to  stay  away  under  any  consideration,"  he 
added,  enjoying  the  confusion  he  caused  her. 

"If  you  are  so  tantalising,  you  naughty  papa, 
I  shall  go  to  the  lower  Nalevki  and  fall  in  love 
with  the  first  young  Talmud  Jew  I  see,"  said 
Ella. 

It  was,  of  course,  only  a  jest,  but  the  face  of  the 
banker  turned  pale,  and  then  Beatrice  under- 
stood how  deeply  rooted  was  the  prejudice  of 
this  Jew  against  his  own  kind. 

In  reality,  however,  it  was  less  the  prejudice 
against  his  people  than  the  fear  of  being  remind- 
ed of  his  own  plebeian  origin;  and  the  feeling 
was  perfectly  justifiable  in  one  seeking  associa- 
tion with  the  Polish  nobility,  which,  like  their 
German  kind,  does  not  much  love  the  newly 
281 


Children  of  Fate. 

baked  Jewish  noble,  baptised  or  not,  and  at  his 
appearance  is  wont  to  say: 

"Do  you  know  whence  the  odor  of  onions  and 
garHc  comes?" 

"Noble  onions,"  one  would  say. 

"Noble  garlic,"  another. 

Epstein  knew  all  this,  and  yet  he  was  keen  on 
the  quest  for  the  coveted  patent  of  nobility,  and 
spent  his  money  lavishly  to  that  end. 

"With  your  ideas,  Ella,"  he  said,  "you  ought 
to  live  in  America." 

"When  Beatrice  goes  back  to  New  York  I  shall 
take  bag  and  baggage  and  go  with  her;  mean- 
while, au  revoir,"  Ella  cried  and  drew  Beatrice 
after  her. 

"One  word,  Ellinka,"  said  Epstein. 

"What  is  it,  papa?  Say  it  quickly,  we  are 
late,"  she  said  laughingly. 

"The  de  Lacks  are  at  the  Hotel  de  TEurope,"  he 
whispered,  "Waldeck  and  his  father  will  prob- 
ably be  at  the  bank  at  noon ;  it  would  do  no  harm 
if  you  could  be  thereabouts  about  that  time." 

"It  would  not  harm  me,  although  it  might  hurt 
the  bank ;  the  Count  might  not  desire  to  do  busi- 
ness at  a  bank  that  is  overrun  by  females,"  she 
said  and  stepped  into  the  carriage. 

Epstein  gazed  at  the  fast  disappearing  vehicle 
and  thought  how  clever  his  daughter  was,  and 
what  a  fine  Countess  she  would  make,  and  how 
his  own  chances  for  the  successful  realisation  of 
his  dream  would  be  enhanced  if  that  were  so.  He 
gave  no  thought  to  the  possibility  that  Waldeck 
282 


Mistaken  Identity. 

might  already  be  in  love  with  another  woman 
and  that  woman  the  very  girl  who,  he  was  happy 
in  the  thought,  was  in  love  with  the  Professor's 
nephew. 

He  ordered  his  carriage  and  was  soon  on  his 
way  to  the  bank. 

As  his  carriage  turned  a  corner  he  saw  an 
open  barouche  in  which  four  persons  were 
seated.  They  were  the  Count  and  Countess  de 
Lack,  Waldeck,  and  a  very  beautiful  woman. 

The  sight  so  affected  him  that  the  cigar  nearly 
fell  from  his  lips;  in  the  beautiful  woman  he 
thought  he  recognised  none  other  than  Beatrice 
Rosen. 

Hie  barely  managed  to  get  into  his  private 
office.  Then  he  sank  down  in  one  of  the  big 
leather-covered  chairs,  overcome  with  bewilder- 
ment. 


283 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  REVELATION. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Epstein  was  a 
nervous  man.  His  cares  were  great  and  grow- 
ing, and  under  these  conditions  nerves  wear  out 
and  the  whole  system  becomes  affected.  Epstein 
had  worn  out  his  nerves,  and  when  overcome  by 
excitement  neither  saw  nor  thought  as  clearly  as 
he  used.  He  did  not  stop  to  think  that  it  was 
physically  impossible  for  Beatrice  to  be  in  the 
carriage  that  had  passed  him ;  and  his  sight  was 
equally  at  fault,  for,  catching  only  a  momentary 
glimpse,  he  did  not  see  that  it  was  the  Baroness 
Levanovska,  and  not  Beatrice,  who  was  with 
Waldeck.  The  chances  are  that,  had  he  realised 
who  it  was,  it  would  have  distressed  him  just 
as  much ;  but  it  would  have  seemed  to  him  more 
rational  and  more  explicable.  He  was  angry, 
too.  He  thought  he  had  seen  Beatrice  lean  back 
in  the  carriage  and  laugh.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  Baroness  Levanovska  had  burst  out  laughing 
at  Epstein's  comic  look  of  bewilderment,  and  that 
was  what  he  had  seen. 

The  Baroness  was  looking  more  beautiful  than 
ever,  and  people  with  sharper  eyesight  than 
Banker  Epstein  might  well  have  made  his  mis- 
take in  taking  her  for  Beatrice  Rosen. 

Her  health  was  completely  restored ;  her  desire 
to  return  to  Warsaw  was  the  sole  reason  of  her 
284 


"They  Would  Not  Condemn  Me?" 

feigning  an  illness  that  induced  her  relatives  to 
accompany  her  to  Poland.  No  sooner  was  she 
on  Polish  soil  and  in  the  city  of  Warsaw  than  she 
appeared  to  have  recovered  her  health  as  if  by 
magic.  The  Countess  cautioned  her  to  be  care- 
ful, but  Amanda  only  laughed. 

"The  best  remedy  for  a  Pole  is  Poland,"  she 
said ;  "I  feel  so  strong  that  I  cannot  believe  I  was 
ever  ill." 

She  was  in  a  happy  mood  and  as  the  carriage 
rolled  along  she  threw  silver  coins  to  the  beggars. 

Of  a  sudden  her  mood  changed. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  hotel ;  I  feel  tired/'  she 
said. 

"Very  well,  my  dear,"  said  the  Countess. 
"Your  uncle  and  I  want  to  do  some  shopping; 
Waldeck,  dear,  try  and  entertain  Amanda." 

"I  shall  try,  but  with  what  success  I  cannot 
tell ;  women  are  capricious,"  he  said. 

"What  has  made  you  cynical  ?"  Amanda  asked. 

"You,  by  spoiling  our  delightful  drive,"  he 
said. 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  Amanda  retorted. 

"You  little  heathen,  you  have  not  even  a  grain 
of  compunction  about  the  matter,"  he  cried. 

"If  by  the  matter  you  mean  yourself,  I  have 
none ;  like  bachelors  all  the  world  over,  you  are 
exceedingly  selfish  where  women  are  concerned," 
said  Amanda. 

"Man  must  try  to  imitate  his  Maker,"  said 
Waldeck. 

"You  mean?"  she  cried. 

28s 


Children  of  Fate. 

"That  with  the  Maker  woman  was  an  after- 
thought," he  retorted  with  a  laugh. 

"Ah,  see,  our  dear  Commandant,"  cried  the  old 
Count,  "he  is  coming  to  salute  us." 

The  fat  Commandant,  leaving  his  companions, 
rode  rapidly  toward  the  carriage. 

"Good  day,  your  lordship ;  I  kiss  your  hand. 
Countess,"  he  said. 

"Baroness  Levanovska,  permit  me  to  introduce 
our  dear  Commandant,  General  Count  de  Fatoff," 
said  the  old  Count. 

The  Baroness  bowed. 

"Your  antagonist  has  asked  for  you,  Count 
Waldeck ;  your  friend  has  spent  nearly  two  days 
with  him.  Well,  I  bid  you  good-day,"  he  said 
and  rode  away. 

"What  has  happened?"  cried  the  Countess  ex- 
citedly. 

"Really,  Dushka,  you  are  as  agitated  as  if  this 
were  my  first  affair.  De  Prussnitzki  insulted 
cousin  Beatrice  and  I  fought  him,"  was  the  calm 
reply.  His  words  sounded  to  Amanda  like  the 
sweetest  music.  "They  love  each  other,"  she 
thought;  "thank  God,  she  has  no  influence  over 
Joseph." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  us  ?"  asked  the  Countess. 

"I  thought  there  was  no  hurry,"  said  Waldeck. 

"I  think  Waldeck  did  right,"  Amanda  put  in. 

"Well,  get  out,  you  two,"  cried  the  Count,  as 

the  carriage  halted  in  front  of  the  hotel,  "we  will 

drive  to  the  Lazienki ;  I  want  to  consider  what 

sort  of  punishment  a  young  gentleman  deserves 

286 


"They  Would  Not  Condemn  Me?" 

who  keqjs  his  parents  in  the  dark  about  his  af- 
fairs." 

The  words  were  accompanied  with  a  tender 
smile,  and  as  the  carriage  rolled  away  he  threw 
a  kiss  to  the  son  who  filled  him  with  a  pride  for 
which  he  had  no  words. 

As  soon  as  they  had  reached  her  apartments 
Amanda  subjected  Waldeck  to  a  strict  examina- 
tion on  every  detail  of  the  duel,  and  he,  forgetting 
the  agonies  he  had  suffered  from  his  jealousy, 
spoke  in  glowing  terms  of  Joseph's  goodness. 

"Few  people  have  better  proof  of  that  than  I,'* 
said  Amanda  in  a  low  voice  as  if  speaking  to  her- 
self. "He  is  as  unassuming  now  as  he  was  when 
a  poor  lad  in  Dobrzyn." 

"In  Dobrzyn  ?'*  cried  Waldeck. 

"Yes;  I  knew  him  there.  Hie  was  in  some 
slight  measure  identified  with  our  movement," 
she  answered. 

"Do  you  know  the  importance  of  the  revelation 
you  have  made  to  me  ?"  cried  Waldeck. 

"I  can  see  nothing  particularly  important  in 
it,"  she  said. 

"Why,  it  means  that  Joseph  is  the  long  lost 
cousin  of  the  Rosens,"  he  cried. 

"I  knew  it  the  moment  I  saw  him  in  Warsaw," 
she  rejoined. 

"But  neither  Joseph  nor  Beatrice  are  aware 
of  their  relationship,'*  he  said. 

"You  love  her,  do  you  not,  Waldeck?"  asked 
Amanda  almost  pleadingly. 

"Madly,"  he  responded. 
287 


Children  of  Fate. 

"And  she?"  asked  the  Baroness,  and  a  pang 
shot  through  her  heart. 

"I  do  not  know.  Who  can  tell  anything  about 
a  girl  like  her?  But  I  love  her,  Amanda,  I  love 
her,"  he  cried. 

"I  wish  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  you 
may  win  her.  I  was  not  always  favourably  in- 
clined toward  her;  first  came  the  affair  with  the 
estate,  then — well,  no  matter,  since  you  love  her, 
count  on  me  to  help  you." 

"How  can  you  help  me?"  he  asked  dejectedly. 

"Let  me  tell  her ;  it  will  bring  us  more  closely 
together.  By  the  way,  De  Prussnitzki  met  Jo- 
seph in  Dobrzyn,  and,  I  believe,  cordially  hates 
him.  Joseph  once  spoiled  an  amour  for  him. 
You  remember  Dr.  Lerko?  He  had  a  daughter 
whom  De  Prussnitki  ruined.  Now  she  is  in  a 
convent." 

"Good  God !"  cried  Waldeck.  "Now  I  under- 
stand why  he  was  so  shocked  at  Joseph's  appear- 
ance. I  saw  the  beginning  of  the  affair  from  one 
of  the  upper  windows  of  the  flower  house.  Now 
that  I  think  of  it,  I  fancy  the  way  Joseph  spun 
him  around  was  sufficient  punishment.  However, 
I  was  so  maddened  at  the  affront  to  Beatrice,  that 
I  thought  only  of  chastising  the  offender.  When 
I  got  down,  Joseph  and  the  ladies  had  disap- 
peared and  De  Prussnitzki  was  dusting  his 
clothes  with  his  handkerchief.  Joseph  had  put 
the  girls  in  a  passing  drushki  and  returned — it  is 
unbelievable — to  beg  De  Prussnitzki's  pardon." 

"Waldeck,  dear,  tell  me,  they  would  not  con- 
288 


"They  Would  Not  Condem^  Me?" 

demn  me,  would  they?'*  she  asked,  laying  both 
hands  on  his  arm. 

"Amanda,    you !"  he    cried,  and    as    the 

knowledge  dawned  on  him  his  face  reddened 
with  delight.  "I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  this 
makes  me.  Condemn  you!  Most  certainly  not. 
I  do  not  think  a  soul  in  this  city  regards  him  as 
a  Jew.  Only  about  a  year  ago  the  Prince  de- 
sired to  have  the  Professor  created  hereditary 
Baron  if  Joseph  would  take  the  title  after  him, 
but  he  refused." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Baroness,  pressing  his 
hand. 

"I  shall  at  once  go  to  the  Epsteins  and  tell 
Beatrice,"  cried  Waldeck. 

"Please  do  not.  Let  us  go  there  to-morrow 
and  both  enjoy  the  effect  of  the  surprise,"  said 
the  Baroness. 

However,  in  the  morning  came  an  invitation 
to  the  de  Lacks  to  dine  at  the  Professor's  house, 
so  the  plot  had  to  be  deferred  until  Sunday. 

Amanda  went  to  her  room  to  muse  over  her 
happiness ;  a  great  gladness  filled  her  heart. 

"I  shall  love  her  for  the  love  she  bears  Wal- 
deck," she  said,  "and  he,  my  Joseph,  will  bless 
me  for  it." 

Meanwhile  Waldeck  directed  his  steps  to  Ep- 
stein's bank,  where  he  expected  to  meet  his 
father.  At  the  door  he  was  met  by  the  banker 
himself  who,  evidently  ill,  was  going  home. 

"What  is  the  trouble,  Mr.  Epstein?  You  do 
not  look  well,"  said  Waldeck. 


Children  OF  Fate. 

"I  am  rather  poorly ;  I  feel  the  heat  very  much. 
Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  your  lordship?" 

"Nothing  in  particular ;  I  thought  I  might  find 
my  parents  here,  but  I  suppose  they  will  be  here 
later  in  the  day,  so  I  will  call  again.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Epstein,  the  Baroness  Levanovska  and  I 
hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  you  to- 
morrow; she  is  very  desirous  of  seeing  Miss 
Rosen,  whom  she  met  at  Dobrzyn.  You  know 
they  are  really  relations,  and  look  enough  alike 
to  pass  for  sisters,"  said  Waldeck. 

Epstein  felt  as  if  he  had  received  a  sudden 
blow.  In  a  moment  he  saw  his  mistake  of  the 
morning,  and  with  the  knowledge  his  pulses  be- 
gan to  throb. 

"Then  it  was  the  Baroness  who  was  with  you 
this  morning?"  he  cried. 

Waldeck,  thinking  that  the  banker  had  noticed 
Amanda's  outburst  of  laughter,  rather  diffidently 
affirmed  the  fact.  Epstein,  on  his  part,  took 
Waldeck's  manner  for  indifference  to  his  cousin 
Amanda,  and  felt  so  happy  that  he  could  have 
embraced  "the  dear  Count".  He  bade  Waldeck 
au  revoir  and  went  home.  He  was  but  little  put 
out  by  the  fact  that  Ella  had  not  come  to  the 
bank  as  he  had  suggested  and  mentally  prepared 
a  lecture  for  her  on  the  subject  of  "Lost  C^por- 
tunities". 

When  he  arrived  at  home  his  wife  told  him 
that  Ella  had  sent  word  that  she  and  Beatrice 
had  gone  to  Professor  Horovitz's  house. 


290 


"They  Would  Not  Condemn  Me?" 

"To  the  Professor's  house!"  he  cried,  "and  I 
told  that  little,  that  little " 

"Please,  Alphonse,  don't  excite  yourself.  Let 
them  go  there,  they  are  quite  safe,"  said  Mrs.  Ep- 
stein. 

"But  this  is  downright  rebellion !  These  mod- 
ern young  women  are  hard  to  manage;  I  must 
have  a  serious  talk  with  our  dear  daughter." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Ella 
rushed  in.  Her  eyes  were  red  from  weeping  and, 
throwing  herself  on  her  father's  breast,  she 
burst  out  crying. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Where  is  Beatrice?" 
cried  both. 

"At  the  Professor's  house.  A  cart  ran  into 
our  carriage  at  the  corner  of  Moscow  Street  and 
Beatrice  was  hurt,"  Ella  sobbed. 

For  a  moment  Epstein  was  too  dazed  to  speak, 
then  he  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  his  carriage. 

"To  Professor  Horovitz,"  he  cried. 


291 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  MIRACLE. 

"By  St.  George,  I  am  a  lucky  man.  Ten  min- 
utes ago  I  saw  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  Poland 
and  now  I  meet  the  best  man  on  earth,"  cried 
Merau,  taking  Joseph's  arm. 

"I  shall  not  question  your  taste  in  matters  of 
beauty,  but  as  to  the  other,  I  think  your  emotion 
masters  your   judgment,"  Joseph   rejoined. 

"He  who  does  the  most  good  is  the  best  man," 
said  Merau  sententiously. 

"Provided  the  good  done  springs  from  pure 
motives  and  that  the  doer  is  not  otherwise  weak. 
Who  is  there  that  could  stand  in  perfect  right- 
eousness before  the  all-seeing  eye  of  God  ?"  said 
Joseph. 

"I  know  one  such ;  but  can  you  guess  who  was 
the  woman  to  whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of  show- 
ing your  picture?" 

"Miss  Rosen?" 

"Exactly;  and  just  think  of  it,  she  told  me 
that  it  does  not  do  the  original  justice,"  said 
Merau. 

"Pan  Jean,  I  want  to  ask  a  great  favor,  and 
although  the  request  may  seem  presumptuous,  the 
desire  that  you  may  grant  it  is  so  keen  that  I 
will  make  it,"  said  Joseph. 

"Speak,  I  will  do  your  bidding,  no  matter  at 
what  cost,"  said  Merau. 

292 


A  Miracle. 

"Let  no  one  see  my  portrait  while  I  am  alive." 

"Do  you  know  what  the  granting  of  this  re- 
quest means  to  me?"  asked  the  artist  with  trem- 
bling lips.  "It  is  the  best  work  I  have  done  or 
am  capable  of  doing.  Do  you  know  what  this 
means  to  an  artist?" 

"It  means  the  sacrifice  of  vainglory.  It  can- 
not mean  the  sacrifice  of  your  artistic  life.  Like 
everyone  you  think  that  you  are  encouraged  by 
public  praise.  That  is  the  small  side  of  the  ar- 
tist. The  large  and  imperishable  side  of  the  artist 
is  his  pure  love  for  art;  when  praise  or  blame 
come  from  within;  when  he  does  his  work  to 
please  his  soul  and  to  give  expression  to  the  intri- 
cate and  delicate  workings  of  his  mind.  I  lately 
was  looking  at  some  paintings  by  Velasquez; 
there  was  an  artist  who  did  not  consider  what 
people  might  think  of  his  work!  Every  subject 
that  seemed  to  his  fancy  to  be  worthy  of  his  brush 
was  portrayed  by  him  with  the  same  love  for  art, 
the  same  fineness  of  conception  and  the  same  deli- 
cate shading.  The  results  are  marvelous.  Such 
work,  so  conceived  and  executed,  makes  man- 
kind happier,"  said  Joseph. 

"But  is  not  the  artist  bound  to  expose  his  work 
to  the  eye  of  the  world  if  he  would  have  the 
world  benefit  by  it  ?"  asked  Merau. 

"Undoubtedly,  and  I  do  not  ask  you  to  hide 
your  work  for  all  time;  only  while  I  live,  Pan 
Jean,  only  while  I  live." 

"You  will  outlive  me  by  half  a  century  I" 


293 


Children  of  Fate. 

"It  is  possible ;  but  men  have  died  younger  than 
I." 

'*But  what  possible  harm  can  it  do  to  anyone 
or  to  you,  if  people  see  your  picture?"  asked 
Merau. 

"Harm!"  said  Joseph  in  response,  "I  was  not 
thinking  of  that;  but  my  uncle  spoke  about  the 
picture  to  my  mother  and  she  did  not  care  for 
the  subject  that  it  represented,  and  I  must  do 
nothing  that  might  offend  my  mother's  feelings. 
I  know  you  will  do  nothing  to  hurt  either  her 
feelings  or  mine." 

"Never!"  cried  Merau,  grasping  Joseph's 
hand.  "Look,  look !  The  stupid,  the  idiot !  if  he 
does  not  make  a  sharp  turn  he  will  run  into  that 
carriage.    Ah,  I  thought  so." 

Even  as  the  artist  spoke  there  was  a  crash  and 
a  shriek,  the  horses  went  down,  kicking,  and 
in  a  moment  a  crowd  surrounded  the  scene  of  the 
accident. 

"Come,  Pan  Jean,  we  may  be  able  to  lend 
assistance,"  said  Joseph,  and  both  strode  rapidly 
toward  the  scene. 

The  crowd  stood  like  a  solid  wall  around  the 
men  who  were  trying  to  unharness  the  fallen 
horses. 

Merau  called  out  in  his  big  voice  to  make  way 
for  the  doctor,  but  as  the  crowd  was  unyielding, 
Joseph  cried: 

"Through  them.  Pan  Jean." 

They  heaved  their  shoulders  against  the  mass 
of  humanity  and  then  the  people  fell  back. 
294 


A  Miracle. 

In  a  moment  Joseph  was  by  the  carriage. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Horovitz,  help  us,"  cried  Ella. 

"Be  calm.  Miss  Epstein,  we  will  do  our  best. 
Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked. 

!*No ;  but  I  think  Beatrice  is.    She  has  fainted." 

"Put  a  few  drops  of  this  on  your  handkerchief 
and  hold  it  to  her  nostrils,  it  will  revive  her,"  he 
said,  giving  her  a  small  phial.  "Here,  Pan  Jean, 
let  us  push  back  the  carriage." 

When  the  carriage  was  free  from  the  strug- 
gling horses,  Joseph  took  Beatrice  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  to  a  drushki  that  Merau  had  hailed 
and  told  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the  Professor's 
house.  ! 

Having  placed  Ella  by  Joseph's  side,  Merau 
sprang  onto  the  box  and  away  they  went. 

Beatrice,  who  had  regained  consciousness,  lay 
in  Joseph's  arms  like  a  tired  child.  Now  and  then 
a  groan  escaped  her  lips,  but  she  suppressed  the 
pain  in  the  delicious  feeling  that  filled  her  heart. 

Joseph's  thoughts  were  not  with  her.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  time  when  another  woman,  a  wo- 
man who  had  taught  him  the  first  lesson  of  his 
great  love,  lay  in  his  arms.  How  like  she  was 
to  this  girl,  yet  how  different !  What  the  differ- 
ence was  he  did  not  know,  nor  did  he  care  to 
analyse;  he  knew  that,  holding  this  one  close  to 
his  heart,  he  would  have  given  all  in  the  world 
if  he  could  have  held  the  other  there  instead. 

Ella  interrupted  his  thoughts. 

"Papa  will  die  of  fright,"  she  sobbed. 

"When    we  get  to  the  house,  send  a  note  that 

295 


Children  of  Fate. 

you  and  Miss  Rosen  are  with  us;  later  on  you 
can  explain/'  he  rejoined. 

The  Professor's  excitement  was  almost  as 
great  as  Ella's.  He  had  begun  to  think  that 
Providence  had  sent  this  beautiful  girl  as  a  mate 
for  Joseph  and  the  injury  to  her  unnerved  him 
for  a  moment.  However,  he  soon  recovered  and 
became  quite  cheerful  when  upon  examination  he 
found  that  she  had  only  broken  her  arm. 

"You  have  had  great  luck,"  he  said.  "A  frac- 
ture of  the  left  forearm  is  really  nothing;  and 
if  you  have  no  objection  Joseph  will  put  a  plaster 
coat  on  your  arm — to  keep  it  warm,"  he  added 
with  a  smile. 

Beatrice  smiled;  despite  her  pain  she  was 
deeply  grateful  to  the  Professor  for  permitting 
Joseph  to  treat  her.  A  little  later,  at  Joseph's 
mere  suggestion,  she  turned  her  face  to  the  wall 
and  went  to  sleep. 

When  Epstein  came  to  the  house  he  was  sur- 
prised to  find  everyone  in  apparent  calm  and  the 
Professor  and  Merau  in  the  library  having  a 
quiet  smoke. 

"Why,  gentlemen,  you  appear  as  if  nothing 
terrible  had  happened,"  he  cried,  and  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"There  is  no  need  for  alarm.  A  fractured  arm 
is  not  a  serious  matter,"  said  the  Professor.  "She 
is  under  the  best  of  care  and  will  be  about  in 
a  few  days." 

"Are  you  sure  that  she  is  not  otherwise  hurt?" 
asked  the  banker. 

296 


A  Miracle. 

"Quite  sure,"  the  Professor  replied  with  a  smile. 
"Now  try  to  calm  yourself,"  he  added  as  the 
banker  uttered  groan  after  groan,  wiping  big 
beads  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

"How  can  I,  how  can  I?  She  was  left  in  my 
care  and  now — and  now " 

"It  will  all  come  right,  Mr.  Epstein,"  said 
Merau,  rising.  "If  you  will  allow  me  I  will  ac- 
company you ;  I  am  going  your  way." 

Epstein  felt  grateful  to  Merau  and  leaned 
heavily  on  his  arm  as  he  descended  the  stairs. 


297 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  COUSINS. 

The  news  of  the  accident  appeared  in  all  the 
evening  papers  and  on  the  following  day  many 
people  left  their  cards  at  the  Professor's  house. 
Among  those  who  called  were  the  de  Lacks  and 
the  Baroness,  but  no  one  was  permitted  to  see  the 
patient.  Fever  had  set  in  toward  noon  on 
Sunday,  and  by  the  evening  she  was  delirious. 
The  entire  panorama  of  events  of  the  past  few 
years  moved  before  her  fevered  fancy,  and 
through  it  ran  the  constant  longing  for  tie  lost 
relatives. 

"We  must  find  them,  papa,  we  must.  They  are 
so  poor  and  we  are  so  rich.  Let  us  find  them, 
papa,  and  give  them  all,  all." 

At  midnight  her  temperature  had  reached  an 
alarming  height ;  the  Professor  and  Joseph  stood 
at  the  bedside,  the  former  exceedingly  grave,  the 
latter  gazing  into  vacancy,  his  lips  moving  as  if 
he  were  communing  with  unseen  beings. 

Then  the  Professor  put  his  hand  on  his  arm 
and  he  turned  with  a  start. 

"If  this  fever  continues  it  will  be  best  to  let 
Epstein  telegraph  for  her  father.  She  is  not 
strong  enough  to  stand  this  temperature,"  said 
the  Professor. 

Joseph  shut  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 

298  .     i 


The  Cousins. 

"Tell  them  to  boil  some  milk  and  bring  it  here," 
he  said. 

"Milk,  in  a  fever !"  cried  his  uncle,  and  looked 
keenly  at  Joseph.  He  thought  the  voung  man 
has  gone  mad. 

"Yes,  uncle,  milk  and  a  big  bowl  full,"  said 
Joseph  calmly. 

It  was  brought  and  Joseph  administered  a  tea- 
spoonful. 

At  first  Beatrice  demurred. 

"Take  it,"  said  Joseph,  and  she  obeyed. 

One  after  another,  teaspoonfuls  of  milk  were 
taken,  and  then  she  drank  from  the  bowl,  quickly, 
eagerly,  her  burning  hand  resting  on  Joseph's 
arm ;  then  she  sank  down  on  the  pillow. 

Joseph  covered  her  with  a  feather  coverlet.  A 
few  minutes  later  she  broke  into  a  profound  per- 
spiration and  then  fell  asleep. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Professor  felt  her  pulse. 

"A  miracle,  not  the  milk,  has  saved  her  life," 
he  said  in  an  undertone. 

But  Joseph  appeared  not  to  have  heard.  He 
stood  by  the  bedside  and  with  eyes  shut  and 
hands  folded  seemed  to  be  in  profound  prayer. 

The  Professor  felt  something  like  awe  before 
the  power  of  this  man  who  seemed  to  work  mir- 
acles in  defiance  of  all  medical  rules,  and  as  he 
went  from  the  room  he  felt  for  the  first  time  in 
many  years  that  he  wanted  to  pray. 

Joseph  did  not  move  from  Beatrice's  bedside. 
Once,  during  the  vigil  of  that  long  night,  he 
went  to  a  comer  of  the  room  and,  as  in  years  gone 
299 


Children  of  Fate. 

by,  he  prayed — prayed  fervently  that  the  young 
Hfe  might  be  spared. 

Toward  morning  his  mother  entered  and  was 
surprised  at  the  gladness  that  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "I  have  made  a  great  dis- 
covery.   She  is  one  of  us." 

"My  dear  son,"  said  Mrs.  Rosen,  misunder- 
standing his  meaning,  "I  did  not  for  a  moment 
think  she  was  a  Gentile." 

"No,  dear  mother,  but  she  is  our  relation ;  she 
is  uncle  Max's  granddaughter ;  her  father's  name 
is  Howard  and  he  now  lives  in  Dobrzyn,"  he 
said.    "She  disclosed  it  in  her  delirium." 

His  mother  was  astonished  beyond  words.  She 
took  a  step  forward  and  looked  at  the  sleeping 
girl,  whose  regular  breathing  was  evidence  of 
sound  healthful  rest. 

"God  grant  that  your  words  be  true,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosen.  She  also  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  American  girl  had  been  sent  by  Providence 
as  a  wife  for  her  son.  "Let  us  pray  that  she 
may  get  well,"  she  added. 

At  that  moment  Beatrice  stirred,  opened  her 
eyes,  and  looked  at  Joseph,  whose  face  was  lit  up 
by  the  morning  light  that  streamed  in  at  the  win- 
dow. 

Suddenly  her  cheeks  began  to  glow. 

"Joseph,  cousin,"  she  cried,  "I  knew  I  would 
find  you.    You  are  Joseph  Rosen,  are  you  not?" 

"I  am  Joseph,"  he  answered. 

"Ah,  we  have  been  searching  everywhere  for 
you.  Papa  will  be  so  glad.  How  did  you  know 
300 


The  Cousins. 

I  was  here?      Where  do  you  live?" 

"You  met  with  an  accident  and  I  came  in  time 
to  assist  you;  you  are  in  my  uncle's  house,"  he 
replied. 

In  a  moment  the  scene  of  the  accident  was 
clear  before  her  mind.  Simultaneously  also  she 
knew  the  identity  of  this  Joseph  with  the  one 
she  loved.  The  recognition  nearly  robbed  her  of 
her  senses  and  she  shut  her  eyes  to  recover  the 
entire  chain  of  wonderful  incidents  by  which  she 
had  been  led  to  know  him  and  to  love  him. 

I\lrs.  Rosen,  thinking  that  Beatrice  had  lost 
consciousness,  went  to  the  bedside  and  put  her 
hand  gently  on  the  girl's  forehead.  A  deep  sigh 
escaped  Beatrice's  lips  and  as  she  opened  her  eyes 
they  were  full  of  tears. 

"Keep  very  quiet,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosen. 

"And  you  are  his  mother  ?"  asked  Beatrice. 

"Yes,  dear ;  he  is  my  own  dear  son,"  the  other 
said  in  an  undertone. 

Beatrice  took  the  woman's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Don't  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Rosen,  bending 
down  and  kissing  the  girl's  forehead.  "Get  well 
and  strong  and  we  shall  all  be  very,  very  happy." 

"Joseph !"  cried  Beatrice. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  hastening  to  her  side. 

"You  know,  Baroness  Levanovska  and  I  are 
cousins." 

"I  know,"  he  replied,  and  a  great  pain  shot 
through  his  heart. 

"I  hope  she  will  like  you,"  said  Beatrice. 
301 


Children  of  Fate. 

Joseph  breathed  easier.  She  evidently  knew 
nothing  and  was  only  concerned  that  her  aristo- 
cratic relative  should  not  behave  amiss  to  this 
illustrious  cousin. 

"She  is  very  proud  and  did  not  like  me  at  first. 
Do  you  know  her?" 

"I  know  her,"  he  said. 

Further  questions  were  prevented  by  the  en- 
trance of  Professor  Horovitz.  He  guessed  that 
some  kind  of  explanation  had  taken  place. 

"The  cousins  appear  to  understand  each  other," 
he  said. 

"Then  you  learnt  it  in  the  same  manner  as  I 
did?"  said  Joseph. 

"Yes,  if  you  heard  it  from  Waldeck,  which  is 
not  likely,  as  you  did  not  leave  this  room  and 
he  was  not  here  last  night,"  was  his  uncle's  reply. 

"Waldeck!"  exclaimed  Joseph.  "How  did  he 
know?" 

"From  the  Baroness  Levanovska." 

"I  wish  papa  were  here,"  said  Beatrice. 

"He  has  telegraphed  that  he  will  be  here  this 
afternoon;  he  saw  Saturday's  'Courier'  this 
morning,  and  I  am  glad  of  it;  and  now,  if  his 
daughter  is  very  good  and  goes  to  sleep  again, 
he  will  find  her  fit  to  receive  him,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. 

Beatrice  smiled  and,  obeying  the  suggestion, 
was  soon  asleep. 

In  the  afternoon  Rosen  was  by  his  daughter's 
bedside,  and  the  very  first  words  Beatrice  spoke, 
after  they  had  greeted  one  another,  were  in  refer- 
302 


The  Cousins. 

ence  to  the  identity  of  Joseph  and  his  mother. 

Rosen  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  them,  then 
he  went  up  to  Mrs.  Rosen. 

"Then  you  are  Aunt  Bilah  and  this  is  your 
son  Joseph?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  dear,"  was  Mrs.  Rosen's  trembling  reply. 

"My  dear,  dear  aunt,  can  you  forgive  us  and 
the  dead?"  he  cried,  sinking  on  his  knees. 

"Please  don't,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Rosen,  sob- 
bing.   "The  past  is  forgotten." 

"America  has  conquered  us,"  said  a  voice. 
"Can  we  come  in?" 

"How  are  you,  Waldeck,  and  you,  Mr.  Merau?" 
cried  Rosen,  stretching  forth  both  hands. 

At  this  point  the  Professor  came  in  and  pe- 
remptorily ordered  them  all  into  the  next  room. 

"This  little  lady  needs  quiet,"  he  said. 

Howard  Rosen's  face  beamed.  He  could  not 
find  words  nor  did  he  attempt  to  express  his 
admiration  for  his  cousin  Joseph ;  and,  short  as 
the  conversation  was  that  followed  on  their  leav- 
ing the  sick  room,  it  was  long  enough  for  him  to 
make  up  his  mind  that  Joseph  and  none  other 
should  marry  his  daughter. 

Waldeck,  who  instinctively  felt  what  was  going 
on  in  the  mind  of  the  American,  could  scarcely 
conceal  his  bitterness,  and  the  longer  he  stayed 
there  the  more  he  suffered.  At  length,  unable  to 
bear  it  any  longer,  he  rose  to  go.  He  looked 
quite  haggard  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  said, 

"Good-bye,  Uncle  Howard,  I  must  go.    I  am 


303 


Children  of  Fate. 

glad  to  have  been  of  some  service  to  my  dear 
cousin." 

"You  have  my  deepest  and  most  lasting  grati- 
tude, Waldeck,"  said  Rosen,  shaking  the  young 
man's  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Joseph ;  I  am  off  to  Italy  or  China 
or  the  Antipodes;  it  does  not  matter  whither," 
said  Waldeck. 

A  few  moments  later  he  and  Merau  were  gone. 

"Waldeck  looks  ill,"  said  the  Professor. 

"He  loves  Beatrice,"  Joseph  rejoined. 

"Do  not  think  of  such  a  thing,"  cried  Rosen. 

"He  fought  a  duel  for  her  sake,"  said  Joseph. 

"He  is  her  cousin  and,  believe  me,  Beatrice's 
accident  affected  him,"  said  Rosen. 

"I  do  not  believe  in  accident  when  I  see  the 
work  of  Providence.  I  should  be  a  bad  friend  if 
I  were  to  let  Waldeck  go  away  full  of  grief," 
said  Joseph. 

"But  he  is  a  Gentile,"  cried  Rosen. 

Joseph  had  already  left  the  room,  and  Rosen's 
words,  in  which  there  was  a  note  of  despair,  were 
answered  by  the  Professor,  who  advised  him  not 
to  take  that  line  of  argument  with  Joseph. 

"He  has  argued  us  out  of  the  field  long  ago." 

"Then  you  have  discussed  it  with  him?"  asked 
Rosen. 

"Thoroughly;  sister  dear,  go  and  speak  to 
him,"  said  the  Professor. 

Hbward  Rosen  sat  and  gazed  in  a  dazed  way  at 
the  door  when  his  aunt  had  gone.  He  could  not 
grasp  the  strange  phase  of  character  with  which 

304 


The  Cousins. 

he  had  now  been  brought  into  contact.  He  pitied 
Joseph,  his  mother,  the  Professor,  himself,  and 
above  all  his  own  daughter,  who  appeared  to 
have  a  love  for  this  Joseph  that  bordered  on 
worship.  Did  she  also  feel  that  the  man  she  loved 
rejected  her? 

The  question  suddenly  leaped  up  in  Rosen's 
mind.  He  rose,  and  without  a  word  went  into 
the  adjoining  room. 

When  Beatrice  saw  his  pale  face  she  felt  that 
the  past  few  minutes  had  wrought  a  change  in 
her  life. 

"Joseph  says  that  Waldeck  loves  you,"  was  all 
he  said. 

Beatrice  answered  with  a  sob. 


3«>5 


CHAPTER  X. 


"Vladislav,  hurry  after  Count  de  Lack  and 
ask  him  to  return;  I  want  to  see  him/'  said 
Joseph,  and  he  went  into  the  library  where  he 
found  his  mother. 

A  few  minutes  later  Waldeck  joined  them. 

"You  wish  to  see  me?'*  he  asked. 

"On  a  matter  of  importance.  Ah,  mother  dear, 
leave  us;  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes," 
said  Joseph,  and  putting  his  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders he  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  began 
to  cry. 

"Little  mother,  do  not  cry.  You  have  been  my 
strength  all  my  life,  be  so  now,"  he  said. 

"My  dear,  dear  son,"  she  sobbed. 

"Be  brave,  dear  mother,"  he  said,  and  led  her 
to  the  door. 

She  gave  him  a  long,  beseeching  look,  and 
then  went  away. 

"Waldeck,  you  love  Beatrice,"  said  Joseph. 

"I  did  love  her;  but  that  is  all  passed,"  Wal- 
deck replied,  looking  down. 

"You  cherish  the  idea  that  if  I  were  not  in  the 

way  you  would  gladly  recall  the  past  and  try  to 

win  my  cousin,  I  ought  to  say,  your  cousin,  for 

your  relationship  is  closer  than  mine.     At  all 

306 


Waldeck's  Resolve. 

events  you  would  not  leave  the  field  so  ignomin- 
iously,"  said  Joseph,  looking  Waldeck  straight  in 
the  face. 

"If  it  were  only  your  love  for  her,  Joseph,  I  am 
free  to  confess  that  I  would  not  leave  the  field; 
but  she  loves  you  and  no  man  can  defeat  a  wo- 
man's love ;  there  would  be  no  honour  in  the  con- 
quest." 

"You  are  almost  a  Jew  in  your  manner  of 
yielding  to  suffering,"  said  Joseph  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  yielding  to  logic.  I  am  yielding,  with 
an  ill  grace,  to  a  fact  which  I  am  powerless  to 
change.  You  are  the  ideal  of  Beatrice's  dreams ; 
she  loved  you  long  before  she  knew  me.  Then, 
too,  she  is  a  Jewess,  and  for  this  reason  alone  I 
must  give  up  all  thoughts  of  an  alliance  with 
her,"  said  Waldeck,  his  lips  quivering  as  he 
spoke. 

"Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness  against  thy 
neighbour  nor  against  thyself,"  said  Joseph. 

"Do  not  torture  me,"  cried  Waldeck,  and  sink- 
ing into  a  chair  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"Torture  you?"  said  Joseph,  putting  his  hand 
on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "Teach  you,  you  should 
have  said.  Can  you  not  conceive,  my  dear  Wal- 
deck, that  I  may  have  as  much  selfishness  in  my 
composition  as  the  rest  of  my  fellow  creatures? 
Can  you  not  conceive  that  I  may  desire  to  enjoy 
an  unspoilt  bachelorhood  ?" 

"I  can  imagine  nothing  of  the  sort.  Whoever 
heard  of  a  man  trying  to  reason  himself  away 

307 


Children  of  Fate. 

from  a  treasure  for  the  possession  of  which  men 
would  give  their  lives  ?"  cried  Waldeck. 

"Whoever  heard  of  a  man  trying  hard  to  al- 
low another  to  take  the  very  treasure  which  he 
himself  is  dying  to  possess  ?"  was  the  reply. 

"Beatrice  loves  you,"  said  Waldeck. 

"You  love  Beatrice." 

"Against  the  wish  of  every  one  who  has  or 
cares  to  have  a  voice  in  the  matter.  There  are 
a  thousand  difficulties  in  my  way ;  there  is  not  one 
in  yours,"  said  Waldeck. 

Joseph  was  silent.  Notwithstanding  the  love 
he  bore  Waldeck,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
disclose  to  him  the  secret  that  his  heart  held. 
In  him  dwelt  the  spirit  of  his  race,  the  strong, 
passionate  spirit  that  prompts  men  to  die  for 
their  love;  but  with  it  went  the  diffidence  be- 
gotten by  that  mixture  of  pride  and  fear  which 
constitutes  the  real  secret  why  the  Jews  have  sur- 
vived stronger  and  braver  races.  The  pliant  is  a 
greater  power  than  the  unbending;  one  may 
defy  and  break,  the  other  yields  and  recovers. 
If  Joseph  told  him  that  he  loved  Amanda,  Wal- 
deck might  embrace  him  and  wish  him  luck,  but 
it  was  also  possible  that  he  might  look  at  him  and 
coldly  say,  "You  mean  the  Baroness  Levanov- 
ska!"    It  was  this  that  he  dreaded. 

Waldeck  for  his  part  was  under  the  impres- 
sion that  Joseph  was  considering  the  advisability 
of  yielding  to  him,  and  taking  as  his  wife  the 
girl  who  appeared  so  well  fitted.  Joseph,  he 
thought,  could  not  fail  to  see  the  advantage  of 
308 


Waldeck's  Resolve. 

such  a  union.  But  although  he  had  pleaded  with 
Joseph  as  he  did,  the  thought  of  what  it  would 
mean  to  him  caused  him  the  keenest  pain. 

"Well,  I  must  go;  I — I  shall  try  to  seek  for- 
getfulness  in  travel,"  he  said,  rising. 

Joseph  started. 

**Do  not  go ;  do  not  travel.  It  would  serve  no 
purpose;  neither  yours  nor  mine,"  said  he. 

Waldeck  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"You  must  stay,"  Joseph  continued,  "for  many 
reasons ;  principally  to  help  me  out  of  an  un- 
comfortable rituation.  My  affection  for  Beatrice 
does  not  exceed  that  of  a  relation.  You  tell 
me  that  I  am  a  callous  person  not  to  appreciate  so 
beautiful  and  good  a  woman  as  she  is,  I  will 
reply  that  each  man  loves  the  woman  with  whom 
he  is  in  keenest  sympathy,  and  that,  though  I  do 
not  love  Beatrice  Rosen,  it  is  not  impossible  that 
I  may  love  another  equally  worthy.  However, 
/en  if  I  loved  as  passionately  as  you  do,  I  must 
not  yield  to  the  sweetness  of  it.  I  must  not  en- 
tertain any  thoughts  of  love  or  marriage,  for 
I  am  even  now  preparing  for  a  great  struggle 
with  a  dreadful  enemy.  Before  this  month  is 
over  cholera  will  be  raging  here.  Symptoms  of 
it  have  already  appeared  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  town,  and  my  work  lies  there ;  my  life  must 
be  devoted  to  nothing  else.  Beatrice  will  be 
well  in  a  week ;  take  her  away  and  may  you  find 
the  happiness  you  deserve." 

He  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  Waldeck  with  a 
grace  that  was  irresistible. 

309 


Children  of  Fate. 

However,  a  great  revolution  of  feeling  had 
taken  place  in  Waldeck's  heart  while  Joseph 
spoke.  He  appeared  to  himself  a  weak,  senti- 
mental creature  by  the  side  of  this  strangely 
strong  man. 

"I  will  stay,"  he  cried,  grasping  Joseph's  hand, 
"but  not  to  woo  and  win  Beatrice;  if  God  will 
spare  our  lives  there  will  be  time  enough  for  that. 
I  will  stay  to  be  by  your  side.  There  are  no  hor- 
rors so  great  that  I  would  not  brave  them  with 
you.  If  there  is  work,  let  me  share  it;  if  there 
be  dangers,  let  me  face  them." 

"It  is  well,  brother,"  said  Joseph,  shaking 
hands  with  his  friend.  "By  the  way,  how  is  the 
Baroness  Levanovska?" 

Waldeck  started  violently.  He  suddenly  re- 
called what  Amanda  had  told  him.  His  heart 
gave  a  leap.  Now  he  understood  why  Joseph 
refused  to  feign  love  for  Beatrice. 

"She  is  very  anxious  to  see  you,"  he  said, 
scarcely  able  to  suppress  his  exultation.  "You  are 
old  friends,  I  understand." 

"The  Baroness  has  honoured  me;  I  hope  she 
will  go  away.  Tell  her  that  there  is  danger," 
said  Joseph. 

"She  will  stay,"  was  Waldeck's  reply.  A  mo- 
ment later  he  had  gone  and  Mrs.  Rosen  came  into 
the  room. 

"How  is  Beatrice?"  Joseph  asked  almost  joy- 
ously. 

"I  trust  nothing  will  happen  to  cause  a  re- 
lapse," his  mother  replied. 
310 


Waldeck's  Resolve. 

"Our  strength  comes  from  God.  Now  I  must 
go  and  see  some  of  my  poor  patients.  I  will  see 
our  cousin  in  the  evening,"  he  said. 

He  embraced  his  mother  and  went  away. 


311 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE  DREAM. 


Mrs.  Rosen  sighed  deeply. 

"Father  in  heaven,  save  him  from  harm,"  she 
murmured,  and  as  she  rocked  herself  in  the  chair 
the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  sister?"  asked  the  Pro- 
fessor who  had  come  in  unobserved. 

"Oh,  Daniel,  my  heart  is  heavy,"  she  sobbed. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  he  asked,  stroking  her 
hair. 

"I  did  hope  Joseph  would  marry,  but  his  mind 
is  only  set  on  the  poor  and  the  sick  from  morning 
till  night,"  she  said. 

"Let  us  hope  for  the  best.  I  think  this  Ameri- 
can girl  will  make  him  to  forget  everything  ex- 
cept her  wishes,"  said  the  Professor  with  a  laugh, 
but  there  was  no  gladness  in  his  voice. 

Meanwhile  Howard  Rosen  was  discussing  the 
same  subject  with  his  daughter. 

"What  new  trials  are  in  store  for  us  ?"  he  said. 
"By  your  letters  I  judged  that  he  loved  you." 

"So  he  does ;  I  knew  it  the  moment  I  saw  him 
in  Mr.  Merau's  studio.  Our  souls  belong  to  each 
other,"  she  said  with  infinite  sweetness. 

"Then  what  did  he  mean  by  what  he  said  about 
Waldeck  ?  What  is  this  new  turn  of  affairs  ?  Am 
I  so  worldly  that  I  cannot  grasp  the  greatness  of 
312 


The  Dream. 

this  young  man's  character,  or  is  the  whole  thing 
an  outcome  of  a  deranged  mind,  fanaticised  by 
its  environments,  driven  by  cruel  conditions  into 
a  self-abnegation  that  seems  like  madness  ?  I  can 
scarcely  believe  my  ears.  Where  shall  I  find  one 
who  so  fulfils  the  prophetic  vision  of  my  father  ?" 
cried  Howard  Rosen. 

"There  is  none  like  him  in  all  the  world,"  said 
Beatrice.  "But  come  what  may,  I  will  do  as  he 
bids  me.'* 

Howard  Rosen  felt  like  one  in  a  dream,  so 
unreal  did  it  all  appear  to  him.  Was  this  to  be 
the  fulfillment  of  his  daughter's  fate?  Was 
she  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  illusions  of  a  dreamer  ? 
He  was  not  the  man  to  shirk  a  duty,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  must  fight  for  his  daugh- 
ter's happiness  at  whatever  cost,  at  whatever 
sacrifice. 

However,  he  saw  no  way  to  attack  the  enemy. 
Joseph  could  not  be  bribed.  His  uncle's  vast 
fortune  was  at  his  disposal;  the  millions  of  the 
American  would  be  no  temptation  to  a  man  of 
Joseph's  character. 

"What  shall  I  do  ?  What  power  shall  I  employ 
to  avert  this  awful  misfortune?"  he  cried. 

"We  must  trust  to  God  to  show  us  the  way, 
papa,"  said  Beatrice  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"My  God,  what  have  I  done  to  merit  all  this  ?" 
cried  her  father. 

"You  have  talked  too  much  to  this  little  girl," 
said  the  Professor  who  had  overheard  his  last 
words  on  entering.     "She  needs  quiet.     Go  to 

313 


Children  of  Fate. 

your  aunt  whom  you  will  find  in  the  library,  and 
I  will  stay  with  this  naughty  patient  who  has  dis- 
obeyed orders." 

Rosen  kissed  his  daughter  and  left  the  room. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  the  Professor,  "you 
will  have  to  fight  for  your  happiness  and  for  the 
happiness  of  us  all.  You  must  therefore  try  and 
get  well.  No  excitement,  no  tears.  Take  this 
and  go  to  sleep." 

As  he  gave  her  the  medicine  she  pressed  his 

hand.  ...i^uisiJBiaail 

"Watch  over  him,"  she  whispered. 

"He  is  watched  over  by  a  power  higher  than 
ours.  Now  try  to  sleep,"  he  said,  placing  his 
hand  gently  on  her  forehead.  Under  its  soft 
caress  she  closed  her  eyes  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

And  sleeping  she  dreamed. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  in  a  vast  hall, 
lighted  by  great,  gleaming  jewels  suspended 
from  the  vaulted  ceiling. 

She  saw  the  tall,  majestic  form  of  her  grand- 
father, and  by  his  side  her  mother,  an  angel  of 
wondrous  fairness,  long  tresses  of  hair  falling 
over  her  shoulders  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
sparkling  tears. 

On  the  floor  lay  a  shrouded  form  around  which 
played  a  halo  of  light. 

The  shrouded  form  arose  and  looked  at  her, 
and  she  saw  that  it  was  Joseph. 

He  pointed  to  a  great  throng  of  people  who 
were  in  the  background  and  said : 

"These  are  my  charge."  ' 

314 


The  Dream. 

And  from  amidst  the  throng  stepped  forth  one 
whose  face  was  radiant  with  light  and  in  whom 
she  recognised  Waldeck. 

Walking  by  Waldeck's  side  was  a  woman  love- 
ly to  behold,  on  whom  her  grandfather  and  her 
mother  smiled  benignly.  Beatrice  saw  that  it 
was  Amanda  Levanovska,  who  meekly  and  hum- 
bly knelt  before  Joseph. 

Then  she  heard  Waldeck's  voice  saying, 

"Cast  her  not  off,  my  Lord ;  she  loveth  thee." 

And  from  the  farthest  ends  of  the  great  hall 
there  came  back  the  echo,  "she  loveth  thee,  she 
loveth  thee." 

At  this  a  great  pain  seized  the  heart  of  Beatrice 
and  she  cried  out,  "Mercy !"  But  the  hand  of  her 
mother  was  laid  caressingly  on  her  shoulder  and 
the  voice  of  her  grandfather  said,  "Peace !" 

Joseph  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  Amanda 
and  said, 

"Verily,  so  great  a  love  have  I  not  found  in 
all  the  world  as  thine,  and  I  have  chosen  thee 
from  the  midst  of  all  the  creatures  on  this  earth 
to  be  by  my  side  forever.  Follow  me,  for  I  love 
thee." 

And  then  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  fore- 
head. 

At  this  the  face  of  Amanda  shone  as  in  a  great 
glory,  and  looking  up  to  Joseph,  she  cried : 

"I  will  follow  thee,  my  Lord,  my  Redeemer." 

Then  Joseph  turned  to  Beatrice  and  to  her  He 
said, 

"I  love  tfie  pure  In  Heart.    Be  obedient  to  the 

315 


Children  of  Fate. 

law  of  God,  which  is  love,  and  let  Waldeck  be 
thy  guide  through  this  earthly  life." 

Joseph  raised  up  the  kneeling  form  of  Amanda 
and  led  her  away  and  the  dream  picture  vanished. 

When  Beatrice  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  her 
father,  she  said, 

"Be  kind  to  him ;  he  is  to  be  my  guide  through 
this  life." 

"Who?"  cried  her  father. 

"Waldeck,**  was  the  reply. 

Rosen  was  thoroughly  bewildered;  he  could 
not  grasp  the  threads  of  this  mystery. 


316 


CHAPTER  XII. 

. . ! 

"l  HAVE  BUT  ONE  LIFE  TO  LOSE." 

The  great  city  of  Warsaw  was  overcast  with 
gloom.  What  Joseph  had  foreseen  had  come 
to  pass.  The  cholera  was  raging  in  all  its  ma- 
lignant fierceness. 

Deserted  streets,  empty  houses,  locked  doors, 
and  barred  windows  told  a  gruesome  tale  of 
calamity. 

The  church  bells  at  first  rang  out  their  plain- 
tive appeal  for  some  souls  that  were  passing  to 
their  last  home ;  soon,  however,  even  these  sounds 
ceased.  There  were  no  sextons  to  toll  the  bells 
and  but  few  priests  to  read  the  service ;  most  of 
them  had  fled  for  their  lives. 

The  cholera  was  there;  death  was  stalking  in 
the  streets.  At  times  the  Destroyer  cut  with  his 
scythe  a  wide  swath  and  hundreds  fell  in  a  mo- 
ment. At  times  he  picked  off  his  victims  one  by 
one.  Some  the  grim  shadow  seemed  to  catch  by 
the  neck  and  to  choke  by  degrees.  Then  they 
writhed  and  swelled  and  turned  black  and  g^ve 
up  their  lives  with  a  shriek. 

The  rich,  forsaken  by  their  servants,  ran  into 
the  street  wild-eyed,  begging  a  stray  passer-by 
for  help,  for  a  doctor. 

The  passer-by  uttered  a  cry  of  horror  and  ran, 

317 


Children  of  Fate. 

leaving  the  other  to  writhe  on  the  ground,  only  to 
be  overtaken  himself  a  few  paces  farther  on. 

A  man,  decked  as  for  a  fete,  rushed  up  to  a 
cab  driver  and,  throwing  a  handful  of  gold  into 
the  man's  hat,  begged  to  be  driven  out  of  the 
town.  But  while  he  had  one  foot  on  the  car- 
riage step  he  was  suddenly  caught  by  the  invis- 
ible enemy;  he  uttered  a  cry  and  fell. 

The  driver  threw  away  the  gold,  sprang  upon 
his  seat  and  raced  off.  At  the  next  corner  he 
fell  from  the  seat  and  the  horse  ran  on  with 
the  carriage  until  it  dashed  into  a  granite  monu- 
ment and  was  killed. 

Women  of  all  ranks,  pressing  their  infants  to 
their  bosoms,  ran  wildly  through  the  streets  cry- 
ing for  help,  and  fell  with  cries  of  agony. 

In  every  street,  in  every  square,  were  the 
dead;  some  lying  on  their  backs,  stretched 
straight  on  the  ground ,  their  lifeless  eyes  staring 
up  to  the  merciless  sky.  Others,  doubled  up, 
their  heads  between  their  knees;  others  leaning 
against  a  wall  or  a  tree  or  a  crucifix,  seeming  as 
if  they  had  been  transfixed. 

The  streets  were  like  a  battlefield  where  men 
and  women  had  fallen  fighting  an  invisible  and 
cruel  foe. 

In  the  Sigismund  Square,  whither  many  had 
gone  because  of  its  cleanliness  and  elevation,  the 
sight  of  the  stricken  and  frightened  people  was 
pitiful  in  the  extreme.  They  begged  for  help, 
crawling    on    their    knees    and    following    "the 

318 


"I  Have  But  One  Life  to  Lose." 

White  Brigade,"  as  the  few  devoted  helpers  in 
this  terrible  disaster  were  called. 

"The  White  Brigade"  had  been  organized  by 
Joseph.  It  was  bound  by  no  rules  or  regula- 
tions ;  it  had  not  even  assumed  a  name.  Its  title 
was  bestowed  by  the  people  whom  the  wonder- 
ful powers  of  the  leader  had  saved  from  death. 

No  one  really  knew  who  the  helpers  were,  and 
no  one  cared.  The  few  that  thought  and  spoke 
of  the  matter,  vowed  that  they  had  seen  the 
Saviour  in  person. 

The  Helper,  like  the  little  band  that  accom- 
panied him,  was  cloaked  in  white.  He  but  rarely 
spoke.  He  acted.  At  times  he  directed  the  dif- 
ferent members  of  the  band,  calling  out  a  name 
and  pointing  to  a  certain  case  to  which  the  one 
or  the  other  would  give  particular  attention.  The 
Band  needed  but  little  direction.  Each  member 
was  working  with  the  intelligence  and  the  in- 
spiration that  fitted  him  or  her  for  the  great, 
self-sacrificing  work.  Here  was  Waldeck  carry- 
ing a  man  to  the  temporary  hospital ;  there  De 
Prussnitzki,  pale  and  haggard,  was  giving  medi- 
cine to  an  old  man.  Ella  Epstein,  Beatrice  and 
her  father,  the  Professor  and  Baroness  Levanov- 
ska  and  others  who  followed  in  the  wake  of  the 
illustrious  young  leader,  were  working  enthusi- 
astically and  diligently  against  the  terrible 
enemy. 

A  sHort  distance  from  the  Sigismund  monu- 
ment lay  a  man  whose  face  and  hands  were  dis- 
figured  by   frightful    sores,   and   his   body   was 

319 


Children  of  Fate. 

swollen  to  a  horrible  size.  His  head  had  fallen 
back  and  his  breathing  was  stertorous.  The  flies 
had  settled  on  his  face  and  a  woman,  the  Baron- 
ess Levanovska,  was  bending  over  him  and  fan- 
ning them  away. 

Suddenly  the  voice  of  the  Professor  called  out, 

"Away,  move  off  quickly ;  this  man  is  leprous." 

"Beatrice  and  you,  Amanda,  go  home  to  rest," 
said  Joseph. 

Howard  Rosen  at  once  led  away  his  daughter, 
but  Amanda  made  no  move  to  go. 

Joseph  took  her  arm  and  led  her  away  from 
the  contaminated  spot. 

"You  are  not  very  strong  and  it  were  best  that 
you  go  to  our  house  and  rest,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  do  not  drive  me  away,  Joseph ;  I  have 
but  one  life  to  lose  and  if  something  should  hap- 
pen to  you  I  must  be  by  your  side,"  she  said, 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

Joseph  pressed  her  hand. 

"May  God  bless  you,"  he  said  and  turned  to 
lend  assistance  to  one  of  the  distressed. 

"God  has  blessed  me  already,  my  dear  love, 
for  He  has  turned  your  great  good  heart  to  me," 
she  whispered,  and  went  to  work  as  if  she  had 
been  endowed  with  new  strength. 

Although  the  work  of  mercy  went  on,  still 
Death  reaped  a  rich  harvest,  and  as  the  days 
passed  it  seemed  as  if  the  entire  population  would 
fall  by  the  unseen  sword. 

Jews  and  Christians  offered  up  fervent  prayers 
to  God  in  their  various  houses  of  worship;  the 
320 


'1  Have  But  One  Life  to  Lose." 

Christians  prayed  that  God  stay  the  hand  of 
Death  and  ihe  Jews  prayed  that  God  might  keep 
the  plague  from  them;  the  latter  curiously 
enough,  had  so  far  been  spared,  a  fact  that  did 
not  remain  unnoticed  and  which  excited  the 
fear-stricken  and  superstitious  people  to  mad- 
ness. 


321 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


In  front  of  the  great  cathedral  that  faces  the 
Saxon  Square  a  large  number  of  people  were 
gathered.  Some  were  kneeling  and  counting 
their  beads,  while  others  held  large  crosses,  cruci- 
fixes and  such  processional  church  paraphernalia 
as  the  Bishop  had  ordered. 

They  were  forming  into  a  long  line ;  for  it  was 
to  be  the  greatest  procession  the  city  had  ever 
seen,  and  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  holy  water  was 
promised. 

"No  doubt  holy  water  will  do  good,"  said 
one  of  a  group  of  sullen-faced  men,  "but  if 
we  could  rid  the  city  of  the  accursed  Jews  it 
would  be  better;  they  brought  the  plague  upon 
us.  Hey,  Carolu,  did  not  the  Jews  bring  the 
plague  upon  us?"  he  cried. 

"Don't  ask  him,  he  is  the  coachman  of  the 
Jewish  doctor  and  he  is  half  a  Jew  himself,"  said 
another. 

"As  I  love  God,  Mat  Grabovski,  you  are  an 
ungrateful  dog;  my  young  master  saved  your 
wife's  life  and  paid  your  rent  when  Bednarski, 
the  smith,  wanted  to  throw  you  out  of  your 
hovel,"  said  the  coachman. 

"You  are  a  liar  if  you  say  that  it  was  your 
master,  whom  I  do  not  know  and  whom  the 
322 


"The  Greater  Calamity  Has  Come." 

saints  confound;  I  know  that  it  was  the  Pan 
Christ  himself  who  came  to  our  house  last  Christ- 
mas and  cured  my  wife  and  gave  us  money," 
Grabovski  retorted. 

"Mat  speaks  the  truth;  what  Jew  would  give 
a  Catholic  money  and  save  his  life  ?  We  ought  to 
rid  the  city  of  the  Jews  and  the  plague  at  the 
same  time  and  the  Pan  Christ  will  help  us." 

"True  words.  We  ought  to  pay  them  back  for 
what  they  did  to  our  Lord." 

"As  I  love  God,  brothers,  let  us  do  it  to- 
night," whispered  Grabovski. 

At  this  moment  a  bell  was  sounded  and  the 
Bishop  in  the  gorgeous  vestments  of  his  sacer- 
dotal office,  holding  aloft  with  both  hands  a 
golden  crucifix,  made  his  appearance.  He  was 
followed  by  the  sacristan  with  golden  staff  and 
by  priests  and  acolites  in  red  and  white. 

At  the  sight  of  the  Bishop  the  people  fell  on 
their  knees.  The  sacristan  intoned  a  hymn,  the 
bells  tolled  and  the  procession  moved  on. 

Grabovski  and  his  friends  kept  up  a  lively  con- 
versation planning  a  massacre  of  the  Jews  and  a 
division  of  the  spoils  that  were  certain  to  fall  into 
their  hands. 

Suddenly  Grabovski  took  hold  of  his  compan- 
ion's arm. 

"Blood  of  Christ !  Look,  there  is  a  Jew,  stand- 
ing in  front  of  his  house,  and  mocking  us.  See, 
he  has  not  removed  his  filthy  cap  in  the  presence 
of  the  Sanctuary.  At  him,  brothers ;  let  us  pull 
out  his  filthy  beard." 

323 


Children  of  Fate. 

They  made  a  dash  for  the  Jew.  Hfd  was 
knocked  over,  beaten,  kicked  to  death  under  their 
feet.  The  act  was  Hke  the  smell  of  blood  to  a 
ravenous  beast  and  in  a  moment  the  erstwhile 
worshippers  became  a  yelling  mob  of  savages, 
that  pressed  forward  to  the  Jewish  quarter. 

The  Bishop  attempted  to  restore  order,  he  com- 
manded the  priests  to  speak  to  the  people,  but 
they  had  become  uncontrollable,  they  were  no 
longer  like  human  beings. 

Meanwhile,  Carolu,  the  Professor's  coachman, 
had  rushed  home  and  in  short,  halting  speech 
told  the  professor  of  what  he  had  overheard  and 
what  he  feared. 

"Where  are  they  now?"  asked  the  Professor. 

"They  are  just  forming  in  line  and  will  march 
through  the  New  Town,"  said  Carolu. 

"Call  Vladislav,"  ordered  the  professor  and 
hastily  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"Ride  as  fast  as  you  can  and  give  this  note 
to  the  Commandant  at  Praga,"  he  said  to  Vladi- 
slav. 

The  latter  bowed  and  went  out.  In  the  hall 
he  was  met  by  Joseph  who  asked  for  the  news  of 
the  day. 

"Bad  news,  master,  there  is  an  attack  upon 
the  Jews." 

"Now?"  asked  Joseph. 

"It  may  be  now,"  said  Vladislav  and  hastened 
away. 

"The  greater  calamity  has  come,"  said  Joseph 
as  he  entered  his  uncle's  room. 

324 


"The  Greater  Calamity  Has  Come." 

"De  Prussnitzki's  Cossacks  will  wipe  them 
out,"  said  the  Professor  grimly. 

"One  ought  not  to  employ  such  means," 
Joseph  rejoined. 

"They  are  mad  beasts  and  must  be  treated  as 
such,"  said  the  Professor. 

"Misery  has  made  them  mad,  uncle;  they  are 
ill  and  need  help ;  let  us  do  what  we  can  for  both," 
said  Joseph  and  he  went  to  his  own  room  whence 
he  soon  emerged  clad  in  a  long  gray  mantle. 

"You  do  not  mean  to  go  among  these  infuri- 
ated animals?"  cried  the  Professor. 

"Do  not  fear  for  me,  uncle.  This  is  only  an- 
other kind  of  epidemic,  and  I  must  not  shirk  the 
work,"  he  said  and  went  away. 

Joseph  crossed  the  Sigismund  Square  and  was 
turning  into  a  narrow  street  when  he  was  hailed 
by  Waldeck  who  ran  up  to  him  in  evident  excite- 
ment. 

"An  attack  upon  the  Jews,"  he  cried. 

"I  know  it.    Come,"  said  Joseph,  calmly. 

"What  will  you  do?"  his  friend    asked. 

"Save  those  that  are  more  grievously  stricken 
than  by  the  cholera,"  was  the  reply. 

"Ah,  the  poor  Jews!"  said  Waldeck,  as  he 
walked  by  Joseph's  side. 

"Say  not  the  poor  Jews — rather  say  the  poor, 
deluded,  ignorant  Christians — ah,  the  heart  bleeds 
to  call  them  by  that  respectable  name — ;  but  we 
must  try  to  save  them,  Waldeck." 

"But  how?     What  can  we,  singlehanded,  do 


325 


Children  of  Fate. 

against  a  mob  gone  mad  through  superstitious 
fear?"  asked  Waldeck. 

"It  will  not  be  much  of  an  effort  to  calm  them," 
said  Joseph,  "but  those  inclined  upon  bloodshed 
and  pillage  from  motives  of  gain,  will  be  harder 
to  manage.  However,  we  must  not  shirk  the 
task.    Behold,  there  they  are." 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon ;  many  of  the  Jew- 
ish people  were  in  the  synagogue  attending  a  dis- 
course being  delivered  by  the  Rabbi,  while  many 
of  the  young  people  of  both  sexes  were  prom- 
enading the  street.  They  had  no  premonition  of 
evil  until  the  mob  came  rushing  into  the  Nalevki. 
In  a  moment  there  were  collisions,  blows  were 
struck  and  returned  and  ere  long  Jews  and  Jew- 
esses were  down,  wounded  and  screaming  for  help. 
Several  of  the  more  courageous  young  Jews 
rushed  into  their  houses  whence  they  soon 
emerged  with  miscellaneous  weapons.  Knives, 
axes,  sticks  and  stones  were  used  by  assailants 
and  defendants  alike  and  there  were  many  of 
both  creeds  that  sank  down  never  to  rise  again. 

But  the  attacking  mob  steadily  increased  and 
the  majority  of  the  fearstricken  Jews  sought  shel- 
ter either  in  their  houses,  which  they  barred,  or 
in  the  synagogue  where  in  their  agony  they 
prayed  loudly  for  help  from  God. 

Meanwhile,  the  battle  in  the  street  was  going 
on.  A  stout  ruffian  grabbed  an  old  Jew  by  the 
beard  and  clubbed  him.  Waldeck  drew  his  rapier 
and  wanted  to  rush  at  the  fellow. 

Joseph  held  him  back. 

326 


"The  Greater  Calamity  Has  Come.'* 

"Thou  shalt  not  kill !"  he  said. 

Waldeck  felt  almost  annoyed  at  Joseph's  com- 
posure. He  could  not  understand  it.  How  was 
it  possible  at  such  a  supreme  moment?  But 
Joseph  did  not  give  him  time  to  cavil;  he  drew 
him  into  an  alley  and  walking  rapidly  they  came 
to  the  back  entrance  of  the  synagogue. 

Joseph  knocked  loudly  at  the  door,  a  wicket 
was  shoved  aside,  a  blanched  face  peered  through, 
then  the  door  opened  and  both  Joseph  and  Wal- 
deck slipped  in. 

Joseph  made  his  way  to  the  nave  of  the  syna- 
gogue and  going  up  the  chancel  he  cried  loudly 
to  the  people  to  be  calm,  as  a  regiment  of  mili- 
tary was  on  the  way  to  disperse  the  mob.  His 
words  might  have  calmed  the  people,  but  for  the 
stones  that  were  hurled  through  the  windows  one 
of  which  struck  the  aged  Rabbi  who  sank  down 
with  a  groan. 

The  rioters  were  equally  active  at  the  shut 
doors  and  the  frequent  and  combined  rushes 
made  it  obvious  that  it  was  but  a  question  of 
minutes  when  the  doors  would  yield,  thus  deliv- 
ering the  defenseless  people  to  the  savagery  of 
the  infuriated  mob. 

Joseph  saw  that  heroic  action  was  required  to 
save  the  people. 

"Come,"  he  said  to  Waldeck,  "let  us  speak  to 
those  outside ;  it  will  be  easier  to*  quiet  the  others 
than  these  here." 

Waldeck  made  no  response;  he  followed  the 
master  whom  he  now  served.  They  pressed 
327 


Children  of  Fate. 

through  the  crowd  and  finally  got  to  the  front 
door.  But  the  besieged  would  not  yield.  To 
open  the  door  meant  death  to  all,  they  said. 

Joseph's  earnestness,  however,  carried  weight, 
and  in  the  end  the  men  yielded. 

Waldeck  suddenly  pushed  the  door  wide  open 
and  Joseph,  offering  himself  as  a  sacrifice  for  his 
people,  stepped  into  the  entrance.  He  raised  his 
hands  and,  with  a  voice,  powerful  in  its  reson- 
ance, cried  out, 

"In  the  name  of  God,  brother,  let  us  have 
peace !" 

The  mob  fell  back,  awe-struck  at  his  appear- 
ance. 

"My  God,'*  cried  several,  "it  is  the  Pan 
Christ!" 

"Go  home,  good  friends ;  tend  the  sick  and  be 
merciful  to  the  unfortunate  and  God  will  be  with 
you!"  said  Joseph. 

"At  them,  brothers,"  voices  from  behind  cried. 
"Kill  the  Jews !  Kill  the  Jews !" 

They  made  a  sudden  rush.  A  ruffian  raised  his 
knife  and  made  a  savage  lunge  at  Waldeck,  but 
Joseph  pushed  his  friend  aside  and  in  a  moment 
all  was  confusion.  A  few  moments  later  a  so- 
tnia  of  Cossacks  came  upon  the  scene  and  the 
mob  dissappeared  as  if  swept  away  by  a^  cyclone. 

Professor  Horovitz  had  not  ventured  to  keep 
his  nephew  back,  because  there  was  always  that 
indefinable  something  in  the  latter's  acts  which 
disarmed  criticism  and  forbade  interference;  but 
he  regretted  that  he  did  not  keep  him  from  this 
328 


"The  Greater  Calamity  Has  Come." 

dreadful  errand.  He  was  sad  and  full  of  trepida- 
tion. How  if  the  man  whom  he  loved  as  his  own 
life  should  suffer  harm  or  be  killed ! 

He  thought  of  his  own  past,  of  the  joyless 
years  he  had  spent  until  this  rare  character  came 
to  brighten  his  life.  He  thought  of  Joseph, 
whose  soul  was  so  lofty,  whose  mind  so  pure, 
whose  acts  so  full  of  grace  that  the  vilest  be- 
came chastened  by  contact  with  him.  He  thought 
of  the  prodigal  De  Prussnitzki  who  had  mended 
his  ways  and,  at  Joseph's  bidding  had  risen  from 
a  bed  of  sickness  to  work  with  him  among  the 
stricken  people;  and  his  heart  cried  out  in  wild 
protest  against  a  fate  that  threatened  to  crush 
him  now  as  it  had  crushed  him  before  and  made 
his  life  lonely  and  miserable. 

Then  he  seemed  to  hear  Joseph's  voice  that 
said, 

"Selfish  griefs  are  as  sinful  as  selfish  joys. 
They  attest  to  a  weakness  of  which  a  man  ought 
to  be  ashamed." 

This  suggestion  from  an  inner  consciousness 
had  a  calming  effect  upon  him.  It  was  much 
even  to  have  known  such  a  man  as  Joseph;  he 
was  his  own  kin,  and  if  Providence  would  only 
spare  his  life  then 

There  appeared  before  his  mental  vision  the 
entire  chain  of  honours  that  in  course  of  events 
came  to  Joseph.  There  was  nothing  to  hinder  his 
becoming  the  foremost  man  in  all  Russia  if  not 
in  all  Europe. 

Thus  the  Professor  sat  for  hours,  devising, 

329 


Children  of  Fate. 

planning  and  incidentally  praying — ^not  in  words 
but  in  sighs — for  Joseph,  and  with  each  sigh  he 
felt  a  sense  of  impending  disaster  that  increased 
to  unbearable  acuteness ;  there  was  a  whirring  in 
his  ears  that  sounded  like  rushing  waters,  like 
the  wail  of  the  despairing,  like  the  fierceness  of 
the  storm  that  blasts  and  levels  all  in  its  path. 
Suddenly,  with  a  cry  that  echoed  through  the 
room,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  faced  the  door. 

It  opened  wide  and  some  men  entered  carry- 
ing a  body  on  a  stretcher.  The  Professor  saw 
at  a  glance  that  it  was  Joseph,  then  something 
shot  into  his  brain,  all  became  dark  and  he  sank 
down. 

"Here,  Vladislav,"  cried  Merau,  "don't  howl 
like  a  mad  dog,  lend  a  hand  and  let  us  carry  him 
on  to  the  sofa." 

The  Professor  almost  at  once  regained  con- 
sciousness and  sprang  to  his  feet 

"What  has  happened?"  he  cried. 

"Compose  yourself,  Daniel;  it  is  nothing  se- 
rious; fliey  were  struck,  he  and  Waldeck,  I 
think,  but  it  is  nothing — no — thing, — Dan " 

Merau  could  not  finish,  sobs  choked  his  voice. 

The  sight  of  the  other's  distress  revived  the 
Professor.  He  ordered  Joseph  and  Waldeck  to 
be  taken  into  the  adjoining  operating  room. 

Waldeck,  having  come  to  himself,  begged  the 
Professor  to  attend  to  Joseph  first;  and  then  it 
was  that  the  Professor  drank  the  cup  of  bitter- 
ness to  the  dregs,  for  he  saw  that  Joseph's  in- 
juries were  fatal ;  the  knife  had  almost  split  his 

330 


"The  Greater  Calamity  Has  Come." 

heart  which  was  beating  feebly  and  the  Hfe  blood 
was  draining  away  slowly. 

"Can  nothing  be  done?"  cried  Merau.  "Oh, 
Daniel,  where  is  your  science?" 

A  strange  light  came  into  the  Professor's  eyes. 

"Call  in  the  doctors  quickly;  I  will  operate  on 
him;  I  will  sew  up  his  heart;  it  is  one  chance 
against  nine  hundrdd  and  ninety-nine,  but  I 
shall  take  this  one  chance,"  he  said. 

Merau  was  already  gone  and  a  few  moments 
later  came  back  accompanied  by  the  surgeons. 

Joseph  was  laid  on  the  table  and  the  Pro- 
fessor himself  cut  the  flesh  without  a  quiver,  and 
when  the  heart  of  Joseph  was  laid  bare,  the  Pro- 
fessor set  his  jaws  grimly,  his  whole  mind  con- 
centrated on  the  wonderful  work  he  was  doing. 
The  hand  that  held  the  needle  and  drew  the 
thread  through  the  parts  between  each  pulsation 
was  like  steel ;  it  worked  with  the  precision  of  a 
delicate  mechanism,  sensitised  by  the  touch  of 
science. 

When  the  operation  was  over  his  eyes  flashed ; 
the  sewn  up  heart  pulsated  regularly  and  with 
slowly  increasing  strength. 

"If  nothing  happens  he  will  live,"  he  said. 

"He  will  live,"  said  the  surgeons  in  awed  re- 
sponse. 

Professor  Horovitz  sat  in  his  big  arm  chair ;  in 
front  of  him  stood  Vladislav,  who  gave  a  re- 
port of  what  he  had  witnessed,  his  every  word 
cutting  the  Professor  to  the  heart,  and  filling  his 
soul   with   unspeakable  hatred   for  the   bestial 

331 


Children  of  Fate.  ' 

creatures,  who  in  all  ages  have  committed  mur- 
der in  the  name  of  a  religion  they  did  not  under- 
stand, who  did  not  deserve  human  treatment  or 
liberty,  to  aid  whom  was  not  only  a  mistake,  but 
a  crime.  He  smiled  grimly  when  Vladislav  told 
how  De  Prussnitzki's  Cossacks  had  ridden 
amongst  them  and  trampled  them  down  to  the 
last  man,  so  that  this  false  people  might  no  longer 
disgrace  the  name  of  the  ancient  Man  of  his 
own  race.  He  hated  them  with  a  bitter  hatred ; 
for  in  his  heart  he  feared  that  Joseph  would  not 
survive  the  shock. 


332 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  APOTHEOSIS. 


Early  in  the  morning  after  the  accident,  Vladi- 
slav entered  the  Professor's  room  and  announced 
the  Baroness  Levanovska. 

Thinking  that  she  had  come  to  see  Waldeck,  he 
bade  her  enter. 

The  Baroness  was  pale  and  her  eyes  were  red 
from  weeping. 

*T  could  scarcely  wait  for  daylight,"  she  said. 
"How  is  he?" 

"His  lordship  has  but  a  slight  wound  and  will 
be  about  in  a  day  or  two,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"I  mean  Joseph — your  nephew,"  she  said. 

"He — "  said  the  Professor  sighing  deeply, 
"who  can  tell?" 

"Let  me  see  him,"  she  said  pleadingly. 

"Quite  impossible,  your  ladyship,"  he  rejoined. 

"I  must  see  him,"  she  cried  and  her  voice  trem- 
bled. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  no  one  except  the  doctors  can 
enter  his  room,"  he  said  coldly. 

"I  beg  of  you — I  beg  of  you — I  must  see  him, 
my  Joseph — or  I  shall  die,"  she  cried  and  sank 
down  before  him. 

The  Professor  was  taken  atack. 

"What—?"  he  cried. 

"He  is  my  life.    I  have  loved  him  in  Dobrzyn ; 

333 


Children  OF  Fate. 

I  have  loved  him  through  all  these  years.  He  Has 
not  thrust  me  aside;  he  loves  me.  My  Joseph, 
my  love.  I  want  to  see  him.  I  cannot  live,  I  will 
not  live  if  he  dies,"  she  sobbed. 

A  sudden  light,  a  sudden  recognition  of  the 
mystery  of  Joseph^s  words  and  actions  broke 
upon  Dr.  Horovitz'  consciousness.  Now  he  saw 
it  all  clearly,  unmistakably;  he  recognized  the 
full  meaning  of  the  tragic  life  and  tragic  end  of 
his  nephew.  It  was  a  fearful  whim  of  fate ;  their 
lives  had  run  on  the  same  lines,  with  the  same 
incidents,  the  same  results.  What  a  mockery  of 
human  happiness ;  what  a'  stigma  on  the  stupid 
faith  that  spoke  of  an  eternally  wise  arrange- 
ment of  human  destinies !  He  laughed  out  loud ; 
but  it  was  not  a  laugh,  it  was  a  cry,  and  the  sad 
woman  at  his  feet  knew  that  misery  wrung  it 
from  him  and  her  tears  ran  faster.  Her  grief 
gradually  calmed  the  Professor.  He  saw  that 
he  must  not  permit  misfortune  to  unman  him. 
It  was  his  duty  to  protect  the  poor  creature  whose 
love  was  so  strong,  so  pure,  so  sorely  tried.  He 
put  his  hand  on  her  head. 

"My  poor  child;  fate  is  very  bitter  and  cruel 
and  senseless. 

"Die  holden  Wuensche  bluehen 
Und  welken  wieder  ab, 
Und  blueh'n  und  welken  wieder, 
So  geht  es  bis  ans  Grab," 

he  quoted. 

334 


The  Apotheosis. 

But  the  familiar  lines  wounded  Amanda  so 
deeply  that  she  sprang  up  wildly. 

"Do  not  say  that  he  will  die/'  she  cried.  "Do 
not  say  it.     Heaven  cannot  be  so  cruel!" 

"Be  still,  my  child ;  heaven  can  be  very  cruel. 
I  have  experienced  it  myself,"  he  said  trem- 
blingly. "Still,  let  us  try  to  be  brave.  I  would 
give  my  life  gladly,  willingly,  if  I  could  restore 
him  to  you.  Compose  yourself  and  come;  you 
shall  see  him,  but  be  very  quiet." 

He  led  her  to  the  room  where  Joseph  lay.  He 
appeared  to  be  sleeping.  His  face  was  white  and 
looked,  indeed,  like  the  image  of  the  Christ  who, 
'tis  said,  had  borne  a  world's  sorrow. 

The  Baroness  sank  down  at  the  bedside.  She 
kissed  the  coverlet  and  the  pale,  slender  hand  that 
lay  on  it.  Agony  convulsed  her  body,  but  she  did 
not  shriek;  her  own  face,  beautiful  in  its  pallor, 
appeared  stamped  with  the  seal  of  death. 

The  Professor  was  profoundly  moved  and  no 
longer  made  any  attempt  to  keep  back  his  tears. 

At  last  he  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  Amanda's 
shoulder  and  lifting  her  up,  led  her  into  an- 
other room.  There  she  sank  upon  her  knees  in 
speechless  prayer.  All  day  long  she  remained  so. 
The  Professor  tried  in  vain  to  make  her  lie  down 
or  take  some  nourishment. 

"Give  him  back  to  me,  God;  give  me  my 
Yushu,"  her  lips  murmured. 

On  the  second  day  Joseph  fell  into  a  fever  and 
then  the  Professor  gave  up  all  hope.  He  allowed 
Joseph's  friends  to  gather  in  the  adjoining  room, 

335 


Children  of  Fate. 

where  they  listened  in  breathless  silence,  eager 
for  the  least  hint  from  the  doctors  who  passed 
in  and  out. 

The  Baroness  took  no  notice  of  the  others  in 
the  room,  not  even  of  Waldeck,  who  had  suffi- 
ciently recovered  and  desired  to  be  near  Joseph ; 
she  waited. 

About  noon  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  fever, 
Joseph  became  conscious ;  his  fine  constitution  ap- 
peared to  have  withstood  the  fearful  attack. 

"Let  her  and  the  others  enter,"  he  whispered 
to  his  uncle. 

The  latter  did  not  wonder  how  he  knew  that 
anyone  was  in  the  adjoining  room ;  he  had  long 
since  learnt  to  be  obedient  to  the  gentle  com- 
mands of  his  nephew.  He  only  ventured  to 
beg  him  to  avoid  excitement. 

Mrs.  Rosen  joined  in  the  prayer,  but  Joseph, 
turning  his  shining  eyes  on  her,  said, 

"Sweet  mother,  I  shall  soon  be  well,  why  de- 
prive me  of  my  dear  friends  ?"  His  voice  seemed 
to  gather  strength  as  he  spoke.  Then  turning  to 
his  uncle,  he  continued,  "Let  her  come  to  my  side ; 
the  mystery  is  solved " 

The  Professor  nodded  and  went  into  the  ad- 
joining room. 

"He  wants  to  see  you,  my  child,"  he  whispered 
into  Amanda's  ear. 

She  sprang  up  as  if  electrified. 

"Come,"  he  said  to  the  others  and  all  went  into 
the  room. 

The  Professor  led  Amanda  to  the  bedside. 
336 


The  Apotheosis. 

"Amanda,"  Joseph  breathed. 

"Joseph,  dear  love,"  she  whispered  and  knelt 
down. 

There  was  not  the  least  doubt  in  the  minds  of 
those  present  that  this  was  Joseph's  farewell  to 
his  friends ;  but  Professor  Horovitz,  even  at  that 
moment,  would  not  give  up  hope,  and  begged 
Joseph  not  to  speak  much. 

"Dear  uncle,"  said  Joseph,  "I  must  say  all  I 
have  to  say  now. 

"Mother,  you  have  been  my  honour  and  my 
strength.  Do  not  weep  for  me,  for  I  shall  be  by 
your  side  always.  Your  honour  will  be  my 
honour  in  heaven. 

"Uncle  Daniel,  I  pray  you  to  be  stronger  than 
your  misfortune  and  do  not  permit  any  one  to 
wear  any  outward  sign  of  mourning  for  me. 
Keep  up  the  stipends  to  my  impecunious  stu- 
dents and  continue  my  allowances  to  the  poor. 
At  the  end  of  each  week  let  food  be  given  to 
the  poor  regardless  of  creed." 

There  was  incessant  sobbing,  but  Amanda  did 
not  weep,  grief  had  robbed  her  of  tears ;  she  lis- 
tened spellbound. 

"Cousin  Howard,  you  have  a  clear  under- 
standing of  what  is  right  and  best  for  all ;  work 
on  bravely,  and  may  you  be  blessed. 

"Beatrice,  Waldeck  loves  you.  He  is  worthy 
the  best  your  heart  can  give ;  love  him. 

"Jean  Merau,  you  were  a  friend.  In  your 
soul  dwells  love  for  the  pure  and  the  beautiful ; 


337 


Children  of  Fate. 

may  you  be  blessed.  Keep  guard  over  youi 
friend  and  brighten  his  hours." 

"Master,  Master!"  cried  the  artist  and  sank 
down  on  his  knees ;  he  was  sobbing  like  a  child. 

"Waldeck,  I  love  you,"  said  Joseph  with  in- 
finite sweetness. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  the  other  cried,  "you  raised 
your  hand  to  shield  me." 

"That  you  might  live  to  shield  the  woman  God 
sent  you,"  he  said  and  a  beautiful  smile  played 
on  his  face. 

"Rest,  Joseph,  I  beg  of  you,"  cried  the  Profes- 
sor. 

"I  shall  rest  soon.  I  have  but  this  one  life  on 
earth.  Ah,  who  said  that?  It  was  you,  Amanda. 
You  would  not  yield;  you  would  not  leave  the 
poor  and  the  sick  whom  to  serve  you  came  down 
from  your  high  station,"  he  said  and  his  hand  was 
laid  gently  on  hers.  She  took  it,  covered  it  with 
kisses  and  held  it,  her  head  reclining  on  the  bed. 

"Ah!  how  much  there  is  to  your  credit, 
Amanda!  Rachel  and  Yushu — and — ^Yushu," 
he  whispered. 

Amanda's  soul  seemed  to  expire  and  there  was 
such  a  weight  upon  her  heart  that  she  cried  out : 

"Do  not  die,  my  love ;  do  not  die !" 

"Those  that  love  do  not  die,"  he  said  and  his 
eyes  shone  with  a  wonderful  light.  Then  the 
light  gave  way  to  a  look  of  profound  sadness. 

"Which  poem  shall  I  read?  Anyone  I  like? 
Well,  then,  this : 

338 


The  Apotheosis. 

"Die  holden  Wuensche  bluehen 
Und  welken  wieder  ab, 
Und  blueh'n  und  welken  wieder, 
So  geht  es  bis  ans  Grab." 

The  words  were  uttered  with  touching  pathos ; 
the  dulcet  melody  of  his  voice  rose  and  fell  with 
the  same  thrilling  rhythm  as  when,  years  before, 
he  had  read  to  the  Baroness  at  Castle  Wysiniaski ; 
that  scene  was  passing  before  his  mind's  eye,  and 
the  last  words  passed  from  his  lips  like  a  pro- 
longed trembling  sigh. 

Then  a  greyish  pallor  swept  over  his  face,  the 
hand  that  held  Amanda's  contracted,  he  opened 
his  great  luminous  eyes  once,  then  the  lids  fell 
as  if  in  slumber. 


339 


u'ENVOY. 

(Extract  from  a  letter  from  Ella  to  Beatrice.) 
"I  can  scarcely  believe  that  it  is  nearly  a  year 
since  Joseph  and  poor  Amanda  were  laid  to  rest. 
Mr.  Merau  has  at  last  consented  to  allow  his 
work,  both  the  portrait  of  Joseph  and  the  death- 
scene,  hung  in  the  Art  Gallery.  I  saw  both  pic- 
tures yesterday.  Joseph  is  beautiful  as  the  Christ, 
but  the  other  made  me  shudder.  I  can  never  for- 
get the  horror  I  felt  when  it  was  found  that 
Amanda  had  died  almost  at  the  same  moment  as 
Joseph.  The  picture  is  called,  THE  APO- 
THEOSIS.' 

"As  the  de  Lacks,  yourself  and  your  father  are 
expected  here  the  day  after  to-morrow  for  the 
anniversary  of  Joseph's  death  I  might  have 
waited  and  let  you  find  out  a  piece  of  news  that 
I  have  for  you,  but  I  have  not  the  heart  to  let  you 
wait,  so  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  at  last  ful- 
filled the  long  cherished  hopes  of  my  father  and 
am  about  to  marry  an  aristocrat  and — please  do 
not  start — it  is  none  other  than  Colonel  de 
Prussnitzki,  and  I  really  think  I  love  him.  He 
has  developed  a  splendid  character  and  has  won 
the  affection  of  our  dear  Professor  Horovitz  and 
your  aunt.  Papa  is  quite  happy.  He  really  does 
not  grudge  you  Waldeck,  now  that  his  daughter 
is  going  to  a  Count.  You  know  I  never  grudged 
you  your  good  fortune,  and  your  happiness  is 
my  own.  Au  revoir, 

"Ella." 
[finis.] 


340 


f 


LOAN  DEPT. 


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LD62A-30m-2,'71 
(P2003sl0)94l2A-A-32 


r.^neral  Library 


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